


Small Things

by wowbright



Series: A Marvelous Work and a Wonder [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Death Wish, Depression, Dissociation, Gay, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Mormonism, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-consensual Alcohol Consumption, Patriarchy, Psychological Trauma, Religion, Religious Guilt, Scripture References, Self-Hatred, Sexism, Victim Blaming, White Privilege, effemiphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowbright/pseuds/wowbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mormon faith is as much a part of Kurt Hummel as his love of show tunes. For his third birthday, he asked for a sensible pair of heels and the <a>Animated Book of Mormon</a> on DVD. At the age of seven, he has his musical stage debut at the Hill Cumorah Pageant, an annual dramatization of the Book of Mormon put on by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At age 12, he enters the Aaronic priesthood. And at age 15, he falls hard for a boy.</p><p>This canon-divergent fic explores what Kurt's early life and seasons one and two of Glee might have looked like with a Mormon!Kurt as he explores how he fits in with his religion, his family, and the world – especially once he realizes he's not straight.</p><p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: What Makes a Family (1998)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for mypopculturesummer for the amazing artwork. She was great to work with and the research she did gave me feels. Go let her know you love it on her [tumblr](http://mypopculturesummer.tumblr.com/) or [livejournal](http://mypopculturesum.livejournal.com/619.html).
> 
> And thanks to [corinna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinna/pseuds/Corinna) and [stultiloquentia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stultiloquentia/pseuds/Stultiloquentia) for betaing and helping me get clarity on places the story needed to go—and not go. Any errors are mine. Feel free to point out typos, dear readers!
> 
> I first started writing about Mormon!Kurt when [cimmerians](http://the-cimmerians.tumblr.com/) made [this post](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/25819036410/the-cimmerians-tayli-chris-colfer-2nd). Alas, I still haven't gotten to the part she prompted. This is a canon-divergent fic that incorporates many of the events of seasons one and two of Glee, though not always in the same order they appear in canon. It will be easier to follow this story if you have seen these seasons of the show.
> 
> Finally, there are many different ways to interpret and live the teachings of a given religion. Those presented in this story are not the only ones. Although there is a ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS/Mormon church) in Lima, Ohio, this story takes place in a fictional Lima, Ohio, and the LDS community presented here is also fictional.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt is five when he decides he’s ready to become a big brother. But his parents and God have other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally published on [tumblr.](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/94578924405/ficlet-what-makes-a-family-mormon-kurt-au)

 

 **_Prologue: What Makes a Family (1998)_ **  

Kurt was five years old when he noticed there was something different about his family. All of his cousins came in sibling groups of three or more, and the kids in his Primary Sunday school class had little brothers and sisters that they could boss around and take care of. But not Kurt. He was the only child in his home, and the only people he could boss around were his toys. He wasn’t sure that really counted.

He started nagging his parents for a younger sibling. He wasn’t picky about whether it was a boy or girl; both had their advantages. If it was a boy, they could play sacrament meeting together, blessing pieces of bread and cups of water before distributing them among Kurt’s Power Rangers figurines. If it was a girl, they could finally have Barbie dolls in the house. He would help her dress them, and when he learned to sew he would make fancy outfits for them and also for his Power Rangers, and he and his little sister would take them into the garden and throw wedding receptions for them under the azalea bush.

His parents evaded his requests at first, but Kurt was nothing if not persistent. “Drop it,” his dad said when Kurt announced that he would forgo all his Christmas presents if only he could have a baby brother or sister instead. Burt had been trying to teach him how to throw a football for what felt to Kurt like the entire day, but probably hadn’t been more than four minutes. Still, it was boring and stupid and Kurt couldn’t understand what was supposed to be so fun about throwing things. It wasn’t real play; it didn’t involve singing or make-believe or creating things. If he was going to be in the backyard with his dad, he would much rather sculpt fake wedding cakes in the sandbox.

Burt squatted down until he was face-to-face with Kurt. “Each family gets as many kids as Heavenly Father decides to send. It’s not up to us. Heavenly Father gave us you, and that’s all we need to be a family.”

“Maybe we could ask Heavenly Father—”

“Didn’t I just tell you to drop it?”

“Yes, but—”

“No 'but’s. Stop asking your mom and me for something we can’t give you.”

Kurt bit his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. He knew better than to keep talking when his dad looked at him that way. One more word and Kurt would be in time-out, and that was even more boring than football.

* * *

After storytime that night with his mother, Kurt knelt by the side of his bed with her and prayed: “Heavenly Father, thanks for our house and the food we eat. Thanks for making it sunny today. Thank you for Mommy and Daddy and my Power Rangers. Please send me a little brother or sister so I can share my Power Rangers with them. I would be very happy if you and Heavenly Mother did that for me. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

He stayed on his knees, waiting for his mother to begin her turn. All he could hear were her breaths, soft and familiar. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Her head wasn’t bowed toward the bed like it usually was when she prayed; she was looking at Kurt and here was a smile on her face, but there was something wrong about it. She didn’t look happy at all. “Kurt,” she said, pushing herself up onto the bed and patting her lap. “Come here.”

He crawled into her lap and leaned his cheek against her shoulder. He couldn’t look at her face. He felt wrong inside—all twisted up like he did when he’d done something bad. Only he couldn’t figure out why, because he hadn’t done anything.

Or had he? His dad had told him to stop asking for a baby. Kurt had been good all day, not mentioning it again to his mom or his dad. But wasn’t prayer different? Weren’t you supposed to be able to talk about anything with your Heavenly Parents? Kurt’s mother had always said so.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “I didn’t mean to— I thought it was okay.”

“It’s fine,” his mom said, pulling him closer to her body. He could feel her chest rise and fall beneath him. “You’re not in trouble. I just need to explain something to you.” She paused. Rise, fall. Rise, fall. “You remember where babies come from, right?”

Of course Kurt did. That’s what his favorite Primary song was about:

[_I lived in heaven a long time ago, it is true;_  
_Lived there and loved there with people I know. So did you._](https://www.lds.org/music/library/childrens-songbook/i-lived-in-heaven?lang=eng)

“From heaven.” The confidence he had in his answer gave him enough courage to look up at his mother’s face.

She was still smiling, but it wasn’t scary anymore. It was the way she smiled when she was proud of him. The knotted feeling in Kurt’s stomach started to smooth itself out.

“Yes,” she said gently. “You lived with Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother as a spirit. You couldn’t come to earth until you had a physical body, so I grew one in my belly for you. When you were ready, your Heavenly Parents sent your spirit to live in your physical body, and you were born.”

Kurt nodded solemnly. He had heard it all before, but it still filled him with wonder that he had had another life and other parents who loved him. Sometimes, he thought he could remember bits and pieces of heaven: the hook of a melody would catch in his brain and he wondered if it was because he had learned the song in his pre-mortal life; he would smell his mother’s shampoo and close his eyes and think that this is what nightfall smelled like from the porch of his Heavenly Parents’ home.

Kurt wondered about the other spirits still living in heaven, waiting for physical bodies so they could live on earth and learn all the wonderful things there are to learn here. One of them might be looking down on them right now, wishing to be part of Kurt’s family.

“If we ask Heavenly Father, he can send you another baby,” Kurt said.

His mother shook her head. “When I had you—” She stopped, shifting her legs underneath Kurt. “Inside a woman’s belly is a space where babies can grow. It’s called a uterus. It’s like a … Sort of like a flower pot.”

Kurt pictured a clay flowerpot in his mother’s stomach. He wondered how it had gotten there. Had she swallowed it whole? And if that’s all a person needed to grow a baby, why didn’t men ever swallow flower pots too? “How did it get there?” Kurt asked.

“Women are born with them already in their bellies,” she said. “That’s why they can have babies.”

“So why don’t you have another baby?" Kurt said.

"I can’t,” she said. “You know how flowerpots sometimes break?”

Kurt nodded. He’d knocked one over when they had been planting chrysanthemums in it earlier that month, and it had gone tumbling down the porch steps and cracked open on the sidewalk. He had cried inconsolably for two minutes until his mother found a coffee can that was just the right size for the chrysanthemum’s roots.

“You know how I go to the doctor a lot?”

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. He knew that his mom went to the doctor, but he’d always assumed that everybody’s mother went to the doctor that often. It had never occurred to him that she might go to the doctor more than most mothers do.

“A little bit before you were born, the doctor found a problem in my belly. Sort of like it was … broken.”

“Who broke it?”

“No one. Sometimes flowerpots just break. Maybe the wind knocks them over, or maybe they weren’t made right in the first place.”

Kurt wasn’t sure he understood what his mother meant, but he nodded anyway.

“After you were born, the doctors had to take my uterus—the flowerpot—out. That’s why we can’t have more babies.”

Kurt thought about this for a moment. “Could daddy grow one?" He was pretty sure he couldn’t, but he thought it was worth asking.

Kurt’s mom shook her head. "No.”

“Maybe we could adopt one. My friend Sophia from Primary is adopted, and she got to go to the temple to be sealed to her parents, and now they’re a forever family. We could do that too.”

“Maybe.” A tired look came over his mother’s face. “But your dad and I have asked Heavenly Father and he hasn’t told us to do that. I — there are other things that God wants me to focus on right now.”

Kurt nestled his cheek against his mother’s shoulder. “Okay,” he said, and it was okay—if Heavenly Father had said that their family was the right size, then it was the right size. Kurt would be happy with it.

“Kurt,” his mother said. “Please tell me why you wanted a little brother or sister?”

That was easy to answer. “Everyone else has one. I just thought—I thought that meant that I should have one too.”

Kurt’s mom squeezed him tight and kissed him on the forehead. He could feel her smiling against his skin. “It’s okay to be different. Our Heavenly Parents made all of us different and gave us each different jobs to do in the world. They made each of us special and unique. You should never feel bad about being different. Have the other kids made fun of you for being an only child?”

Kurt shook his head. They teased him for wanting to be a ballerina and for playing with baby dolls in the nursery, but they never teased him for being an only child. “No. But … I guess I also thought that if you had a baby and it was a little girl, it would be fun to dress her up.”

Kurt’s mother laughed, but not in the mean way that some of the neighborhood boys sometimes did. It was the laugh she got when Kurt or his dad said something delightful. “If you want something to dress up, we can get you a doll. Why don’t you think about what kind of doll you want and put it on your Christmas list?”

Kurt didn’t have to think. He told his mother right then and there.

On Christmas morning, he ripped green wrapping paper off of the shoe-sized box to find a plastic Barbie in a bright pink cardboard box, smiling at him through a cellophane window.


	2. On Hill Cumorah (1997, 2000)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt discovers the splendor of musical theater—and love—on a childhood pilgrimage to upstate New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A previous version of this chapter was published on [tumblr.](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/94685183525/ficlet-on-hill-cumorah-mormon-kurt-au) Little has changed from that version.

When Kurt Hummel is four years old, his family takes a pilgrimage to the Finger Lakes region of New York to see the Hill Cumorah pageant. It’s his mother’s first trip to the pageant since she was a girl herself, and the first time ever for Kurt and Burt. In fact, Kurt has never seen any type of live play other than the annual Christmas pageants put on by his ward.

Hill Cumorah is a sacred site in Mormon history; here, the Prophet Joseph Smith received his first visitation from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and, in 1827, is said to have unearthed the ancient golden plates from which _The Book of Mormon_ was translated.

The pageant takes place outdoors on this very hill for seven nights each summer. It tells the story of Joseph Smith’s first vision and traces the _The Book of Mormon_ ’s main arc: A tale of ancient Israelites who escaped the conquest of Jerusalem by sailing to the Americas around 600 B.C. Some of the Israelites remained faithful to God, while others strayed. Jesus Christ visited the Americas to preach the gospel and bring God’s wayward children back to the straight and narrow path. For a while, they endured in faith. But eventually they all fell away and the full gospel disappeared from the earth until God restored it through the discovery of _The Book of Mormon._

The pageant is almost more than Kurt’s senses can take in: costumes in every color of the rainbow, battle scenes with hundreds of actors, choral music flooding his ears and making his heart ache with love and longing. Fireballs, explosions, floods, earthquakes. Visions of angels and Jesus Christ, each shining brighter than daylight. It’s spectacular and beautiful and absolutely terrifying.

He wishes there was a movie of the Hill Cumorah pageant so he could watch it again and again. Instead, he finds movies that evoke the same feelings of awe and frightened joy: _The Wizard of Oz_ , _The Ten Commandments, Walt Disney’s_ _Fantasia, Brigadoon, Annie._ He reenacts Jesus’ ascension scene again and again, wrapping one of his Power Rangers in a white handkerchief and raising it from the floor like a rocket until it reaches the celestial kingdom (which in this case is represented by the top of the dining room table).

In 2000, when he turns seven, his family goes back to Hill Cumorah—but this time it’s to be _in_ the pageant, not just watch it. Kurt is beside himself with excitement; the last time he was on a stage was for his first-grade ballet recital, and that was so tiny and insignificant compared to the ten-level stage built into the side of Hill Cumorah. The pageant is what a performance _should_ be: grand and inspiring—even life-changing.

And Kurt is going to be part of it.

Kurt doesn’t mind the 12 hours of rehearsal each day, or the devotionals each morning and night. They make him feel a part of something bigger than himself, something special and important. It’s like the feeling he gets reading the scriptures with his parents on family home evening—cozy and warm and connected to life.

Kurt even enjoys camping in a tent for the two weeks of rehearsal and performances. It’s a contrast to the disdain he had for Boy Scout campouts. With his church troop, camping is messy and muddy, and the boys constantly want to wrestle and play stupid pranks on each other. But here at the Hill Cumorah camp, the boys aren’t in charge. There are mothers everywhere, and girls of all ages; and when boys start to get too rowdy, they either get sent away to play somewhere else or are lectured about being more reverent.

Kurt makes friends with a pair of sisters about his age from a couple tents down. They are in the post-resurrection scenes with him, flocking to Christ. Kurt knows it’s all make-believe, but still, sitting on that stage and having the actor playing Christ smile right at him, he can feel God’s love for him down to his bones.

Between rehearsals, Kurt plays Uno and I Spy with the two sisters. Sometimes their families have lunch together. Kurt especially likes the girl’s oldest brother, Spencer, who is almost 19 and will be going on a mission to Thailand in the fall. He’s tall and looks so handsome dressed as a Nephite warrior, and every time he dies in rehearsals for the final battle scene, Kurt feels like crying even though he knows it’s not real.

He loves Spencer, because Spencer talks to him in a way that’s different from most grown-ups—like if he listens to Kurt, he might learn something new.

He’s right, because Kurt has something to teach him. The day before the first performance, Spencer ends up with a small tear in his costume and can’t find his mother to fix it. “You don’t know how to sew?” Kurt says incredulously when Spencer asked if Kurt has seen his mother. “What if a button pops off your shirt when you’re on your mission? Your mom and sisters won’t be around to fix it.”

Spencer shrugs. “Do _you_ know how to sew?”

“Of course I do.” Kurt folds his arms across his chest. “I’m going to be a missionary one day. I’m learning how to cook, too.”

“Well you’re ahead of me on both accounts,” Spencer laughs. “Think you can teach me?”

They spend the next hour on neighboring camp stools, Kurt showing Spencer the difference between a loop stitch and a straight stitch and when each should be used, and why you should always put a matchstick under the button when sewing one in place.

But the best part comes when they are done, and Spencer leans over to hug Kurt in thanks. Spencer’s chest is warm and solid—not soft like Kurt’s mom’s or even his dad's—and his arms are strong and sinewy. Kurt felt safe inside them, safe in a different way than he does when his parents hold him, although he couldn’t explain how if anyone asked. It’s just … different, and magical, and maybe even a little sacred, like the Holy Ghost is speaking to Kurt’s heart and saying, “I am here with you.”

For the rest of the week, Kurt tags behind Spencer every chance he gets—and since Kurt is friends with Spencer’s sisters, he has a lot of chances. As the oldest of seven siblings, Spencer is used to having younger kids around him and takes Kurt’s ever-presence in stride. Whatever Spencer is doing, Kurt wants to do, too; Kurt even develops a taste for tossing around footballs because it’s something that Spencer enjoys.

“Do you wish you had an older brother?” Spencer asks him a couple days before the pageant ended.

Kurt shakes his head and says, “No,” automatically, because that’s the right answer. He shouldn’t want a brother because his parents and God can’t give him one. But if he could have someone like Spencer back in Lima, a friend who is sweet and patient and not silly like all the boys Kurt’s age—he would like that very much.

The Sunday before Kurt’s family left for Hill Cumorah, his Primary class learned about the Holy Ghost. “When you have peaceful, warm feelings inside, that’s the Holy Ghost guiding you,” his Primary teacher said. Kurt has those feeling whenever he’s near Spencer. He knows their friendship is a gift from God.

When the pageant week ends and it’s time to leave for home, Kurt hugs Spencer’s sisters hard. But he hugs Spencer harder and makes the boy promise to send a postcard from Thailand.

Spencer sends three postcards during the first year of his mission. After Kurt’s mother dies, he sends several letters packed with scripture references and encouragements about Kurt’s family being together again in the celestial kingdom. Kurt keeps them in his bedside drawer and rereads them whenever the longing for his mother becomes too much, and sometimes he gets that feeling he had that first time Spencer hugged him: the Holy Ghost speaking to his heart with the words, “I am here with you.”

 


	3. Extraordinary (1998–2008)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt’s always known he was different. But he didn’t realize how different until he saw Twilight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Canon-typical violence in this chapter.
> 
> Parts of this chapter were previously published on [tumblr.](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/94849535940/ficlet-extraordinary-mormon-kurt-au-pg-13)

 

 

Kurt has known he’s different since he was 5 years old and discovered, over recess at kindergarten, that none of the other boys made a regular habit of staging elaborate wedding receptions for their Power Ranger figurines.

The difference has become more acute over the years. While the other Boy Scouts in his church troop competed for badges in fire safety, hiking, and rifle shooting, Kurt accumulated honors in art, basketry, cooking, family life, and textiles.

By age 10, he began to assemble words for what made him different. “I think the problem is that everyone in Lima is satisfied with being ordinary,” he wrote in his journal. “But that’s not how Heavenly Parents created us. They want us to be extraordinary. They want us to use the talents they have given us and use them to their fullest. There are probably other boys who have been gifted like me, but they are afraid to show it. I hope I can always honor my Heavenly Parents and my earthly parents by never hiding my light under a bushel.”

By middle school, the boys around him began to act strange around girls. They seemed to have had a switch installed in them, and it had two settings: repulsion and fascination. They teased, insulted, or berated the girls as inferior creatures who had no purpose but to be stupid and do disgusting things like menstruate; or they inexplicably fawned over them and talked about the glories of their breasts.

The disrespect toward girls wasn’t only at school. The attitude seeped over into church, which should have been safe from such stupidity. At age 12, most of the boys in his congregation were ordained as deacons, and the girls entered the Young Women organization. Burt Hummel told Kurt that ordination meant he was a man now; he held the priesthood and had all the responsibilities of it, but he should always remember that the priesthood was a privilege, not something he was entitled to. He should constantly strive to be worthy of the privilege by treating all of God’s children with compassion.

Apparently, not all the boys got this lecture from their fathers—or they chose to ignore it. One morning in Seminary, when Sister Connor scolded some of the boys for talking while Carly Flaxman read from the Doctrine & Covenants, Danny Eldridge shot back with, “I don’t have to do what any woman tells me! I have priesthood authority over all of you.”

Kurt doesn’t treat women like that. They don’t exist for the convenience of men, to be at their beck and call and swept away whenever men get bored. Men and women might have different roles to play, but they are equally important. The human race couldn’t have been created without both Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother, even if no one talks about her much.

Kurt prides himself on his refusal to objectify women. He can appreciate a pretty face or a nicely put-together outfit, but he doesn’t dwell on their bodies. He has no interest in looking at Victoria’s Secret catalogs or pictures of shirtless women in _National Geographic_ —much less at pornographic websites.

If treating girls with the respect they deserve makes Kurt unusual, then _vive la différence_.

Some of the boys at school make fun of Kurt for his refusal to ogle the girls. Noah Puckerman’s the worst, ever since that day in seventh grade when Kurt showed up to school in his mom’s old cashmere cardigan. It was taupe—a nice, gender-neutral color, but that didn’t keep Puck from saying, “Yo, Hummel, you’re wearing your girlfriend’s clothes” or Kurt from answering, “I’m not going to have a girlfriend until I’m ready for marriage. Maybe you shouldn’t, either.”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t ever gonna be ready for marriage, you fag.”

Puck’s never let up. Just about every time he walks by in the hall, he slams Kurt right into it the lockers, usually punctuating the action with “sissy” or “fag.”

“Yo, skunk hair! I’m not a fag, I’m a Mormon,” Kurt has shot back a couple times, usually when Puck is too far down the hall to hear him.

Kurt knows he should treat Puck with Christian charity, but that’s a hard thing to do when you hate someone. Besides, it’s not like the prophet Alma sat around a campfire singing _Kumbaya_ with Korihor the Anti-Christ. He struck Korihor deaf and let him get trampled by the Zoramites.

It’s only at night, when Kurt is left alone with nothing but his thoughts, that he wonders if Puck could be right. Kurt has never had explicitly sexual thoughts about boys—he’s never had explicitly sexual thoughts about _anyone_ —but sometimes he finds himself looking at another boy and longing to be close to him in a way that boys were never close to each other: holding hands, walking down the hall with arms linked, embracing like mother and child. When he hears love songs and imagines someone holding him, it’s always a man’s arms he feels around him, not a woman’s.

He’s seen the clean version of _Titanic_ twenty times, and he’s pretty sure he wants to spend eternity with Jack, not Rose.

Just before Halloween of Kurt’s freshman year, Puck corners Kurt in the boys’ bathroom, fist clenched and teeth bared. “What the hell is that t-shirt supposed to mean?”

Kurt glances down at his chest to remind himself what he’s wearing. Given how well-planned each of his outfits is, it’s not something Kurt usually has to do. But Puck’s glare makes it hard to remember anything.

Kurt reads the print on his shirt upside-down. _Keep calm by focusing on the celestial kingdom._ He pats himself on the back for such a relevant wardrobe choice. It’s exactly the reminder he needs right now.

Kurt looks Puck in the eye. “The celestial kingdom is the highest realm of heaven. Even you could go there one day if you stop beating people up, get baptized, and live a clean and moral life.”

“Just what I need. Another Jesus-freak telling me I’m not good enough.” Puck scowls. “I heard Mormons can’t drink coffee or booze.”

Kurt silently wishes he could just use the girls’ room for once. As far as he can figure, girls’ rooms are miniature paradises where people do nothing all day but help each other with their makeup and hair. Boys’ rooms are the opposite. If Mormons believed in hell, this is what it would be like, for sure: reeking of pee and mothballs, awith the constant threat of getting beat up.

There must be boys who’d rather compliment each other on their hair than beat each other up, but so far Kurt hasn’t found any.

But maybe he’s looking at it the wrong way. Maybe bathroom beatings are an opportunity for sharing the gospel. _Keep calm by focusing on the celestial kingdom._ Kurt tilts his head back to create the effect of looking down his nose at Puck, even though Puck is taller. “We choose not to. It’s called the Word of Wisdom. Maybe if you weren’t so hopped up on caffeine all the time you wouldn’t need to beat people up.”

“Yeah? Well maybe if you drank some booze now and then you’d learn to chill out and stop acting like you’re better than everybody else.”

A loud bang. An orange-topped blur flies at Kurt from the handicapped stall, holding what looks like a liquor bottle in one hand. Next thing Kurt knows, he’d flat on his back, Puck straddling him and pinning his arms to his sides. A red-haired oaf kneels on Kurt’s shoulder and yanks Kurt’s jaw open with one hand, tipping the bottle toward Kurt’s mouth with the other.

Kurt remembers how the prophet Abinadi chopped off the arms of bandits and prays for the Holy Spirit to give him the same strength. He chomps down on the red-haired kid’s fingers.

“Shit man! That fucking hurt.” The kid jumps back, waving his hand out in front of him. Kurt has failed to amputate the fingertips, but there’s a line of deep red welts in the skin, and that leaves a warm glow of satisfaction in Kurt’s chest. The Holy Ghost is on Kurt’s side. The kid spins and runs out of the bathroom.

“You can’t do anything right, Malone!” Puck calls after him.

Kurt tries to use the momentary distraction to squirm out from under Puck’s grip, but not such luck. Puck yanks on the back of Kurt’s hair and picks the bottle up from the floor. He forces the neck between Kurt’s teeth.

It’s as bad as getting his head dunked in the toilet. The horrid-tasting liquid fills Kurt’s mouth and nose, floods over onto his cheeks and down his neck as he spits and snorts it out. It’s not technically a violation of the Word of Wisdom if someone is forcing you to drink booze, but Kurt’s not going to go down without a fight. The stuff burns as it rolls into his sinuses. He can even feel it in his eyeballs. Tears stream down his face.

“That’s it, Hummel. Drink up like a real man, you faggy little do-gooder.”

Kurt hears the bathroom door swing open, a pair heavy footsteps clomping against the tile floor as loud as Moroni’s trumpet heralding Christ’s return. Kurt can’t move his head, but he searches with his eyes until they fall on Finn Hudson in a white T-shirt and pale jeans.

A savior has appeared.

“What the hell are you doing, Puck? Kahlua? On school grounds? Do you seriously want to get suspended again?” Finn grabs the bottle from Puck. It splashes angrily over Kurt’s face and his ‘Keep Calm By Focusing on the celestial kingdom’ t-shirt. Finn dumps the rest into the sink.

“Dude!” Puck jumps up and grabs Finn’s arm. “I wanted to get the stuck-up little Mormon drunk. You know they’re not supposed to drink coffee or alcohol?”

Finn looks up from the sink. “Then why didn’t you use plain coffee? You’re allowed to have that on school property.”

“I can never get the lid to stay on right. I would have spilled it before I even got Hummel cornered.”

“I’m right here,” Kurt says. “You can stop talking about me in third-person.”

Puck glares at him. “No one asked you.”

Finn offers Kurt a hand. It’s large and warm—pleasantly so, not like the stinging burn of alcohol in his nostrils. Kurt’s heart skips a beat as Finn pulls him up to his feet. “Sorry about Puck here. He’s not very good at anger management.”

“I’ve noticed.” Kurt side-eyes Puck because he’d rather do that than look in the mirror. Even without looking, he knows he’s going to have to go to the locker room to clean up, and that’s a whole ordeal of it’s own.

“You think you’re better than us, don’t you?” Puck growls.

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “I think I’m better than _you.”_

“Then why are you the one with booze all over your face?” Puck huffs. “Loser.”

As freshman year progresses, Puck and half the junior varsity football team make a daily morning ritual of throwing Kurt into the dumpsters. It’s better on the days when Finn is there, because even if he can’t persuade Puck to not throw Kurt in the dumpster at all, he can usually convince him to let Kurt take his jacket off so it doesn’t get stained, or not to throw Kurt in head-first.

Kurt tries to think of it as a baptism of sorts. It’s not beautiful and clean like the baptismal pool in the temple. But baptism symbolizes the death of a person’s old, sinful nature; and every time Kurt gets submerged in the dumpster, he feels something dying inside him. He says a quick prayer as he goes under, asking Heavenly Father to use his daily shame for the glory of the gospel, and to let him be reborn with a cleaner soul.

 

* * *

Church is better than school. The people there are kind, and the kids don’t beat each other up. Kurt’s not crazy about the annual camp-outs and having to learn survival skills for Boy Scouts, but at least no one makes fun of him for knowing how to cook or sew—well, except that one time, and the troop leader shut them up with, “Those skills come in handy on a mission. Every Mormon boy should know how to do these things.”

Also, church is the only place Kurt has ever heard one boy say to another, “I love you.”

When _Twilight_ comes out, he goes to see it with a few of the other kids from church. It wasn’t too difficult to get their parents’ permission since Stephenie Meyer is LDS and the books are overflowing with scriptural themes like celestial marriage, the Word of Wisdom, and humanity’s divine potential.

The boys sit separate from the girls since most of them are too young to date, which is too bad, because Kurt would like to have someone to share Kleenex with during the sad parts. But it all works out, because as soon as the movie starts he forgets who he’s sitting next to. He almost forgets he’s in the theater.

It’s the werewolf Jacob Black who makes him forget. Every time the camera turns to Jacob, there’s a strange feeling in Kurt’s chest, like the tumblers of a deadbolt unlocking. Kurt can’t keep his eyes off him. It doesn’t matter what else is going on in the scene or how alluringly fretful Bella looks; Jacob is more intriguing. His dark, intense eyes pull Kurt in. And his smile—more love shines in Jacob’s smile than in anything Edward can say or do.

Kurt finds himself getting distracted during the Bella-Edward scenes, wishing things would move along so Jacob can appear on the screen again. And that doesn’t make any sense at all, because Edward’s brooding and those melodramatic Bella-Edwards scenes were what made the books so addictive.

But here in the movie theater, passing popcorn back and forth among his church friends, Kurt finds it hard to get swept up in Edward and Bella’s eternal love. All that matters to him is Jacob Black.

How has he missed how perfect Jacob is for Bella until now?

They go out for ice cream afterward, the boys talking about football and the girls arguing over the relative merits of Edward and Jacob. Kurt is much more interested in the latter argument than the former, but keeps quiet.

Maybe, he thinks, his interest in Jacob was just a matter of empathy. He focuses on Jacob because he knows how important he’ll become to Bella in the later novels—that, and he’s looking for foreshadowing about Jacob’s later transformation and maybe trying to figure out how the costume department will get someone with such small eyes and a cute little knob of a nose to look like a wolf.

“Jacob is more human than Edward,” says Jenni Kress, taking a nibble from the edge of her cone. “At least he’s mortal. He can die and—well, if he accepts the gospel in the spirit world, he could be exalted, and so could Bella. But there’s, like, no chance with Edward. He’s never going to die. Why would you want to marry someone like that?”

One of the boys turns away from the football talk long enough to interject, “I don’t think Jacob qualifies for heaven. He’s not human.”

Jenni rolls her eyes. “He was born human. That’s how God made him and that’s how God’s going to treat him.”

Sophia Jensen pipes in. “But if Jacob’s human, Edward is even more human. I mean, Edward was born one, too, and he doesn’t turn into a hairy wolf half of the time.”

Jenny huffs. “I’m not saying Edward’s not human. I’m saying he’s not going to die. Even Jesus had to die in order to get to heaven.”

* * *

Kurt’s had wet dreams before; they’re a natural side effect of being a young man who diligently follows the church’s admonitions never to masturbate. But they’ve always been vague and hazy and have almost nothing to do with sex, as far as Kurt can tell. The only one he remembers in any detail involves a water balloon fight among his Boy Scout troop—there were no girls around, but all of them were fully clothed, and no one was kissing or touching. The only thing that might qualify as sexual was the explosion of the water balloons, and all that meant was that every boy occasionally needed a release.

Kurt has a dream the night after he goes to see _Twilight._ It starts like a scene from the movie, with Bella and Jacob arguing by the school lockers about whether werewolves qualify for baptism. Bella says no, not realizing that Jacob himself is one, and how every word out of her mouth makes his heart twist like a balled-up fist. But Kurt can see it, there in Jacob’s eyes, the pain of years of being told you’re not good enough, you can never be good enough, God doesn’t want you to be this way and can’t accept you as long as you insist on being different.

Then everything switches up. They’re out under the stars, searching for something—Edward, maybe? Or Bella’s sister?—and instead of watching Bella and Jacob, Kurt _is_ Bella, watching Jacob through her eyes. They approach the trunk of a tree and Jacob tosses his backpack down against its roots. “Here we are,” he says.

“What do you mean? Where is here?” Kurt says. (He’s definitely Kurt now, not just a hitchhiker in Bella’s body; he looks down and there is his favorite gray T-shirt with the old-fashioned mustaches on it, and his hands—soft for a boy’s but still larger and more masculine than Bella's—and the black skinny jeans he wasn’t allowed to wear to sacrament meeting or Mutual because they were too tight, and the knee-high Doc Martens he won on an eBay auction.)

“Here,” Jacob says, reaching out his hand.

Kurt takes it. It feels right.

“We’re right where Heavenly Father wants us,” Jacob says, following his eyes up the trunk of the tree until his head hung back toward the sky.

Kurt follows Jacob’s gaze, his eyes moving up, up, up—but there is no end to this tree. It grows past the clouds and the stars. “How can that even be?” Kurt wonders, because even while dreaming, he remembers that no air exists past the sky.

But maybe it does now. Maybe Heavenly Father has changed things, because he wants to show the world that all things were possible. Maybe this is the Tree of Life that Lehi dreamt about in the Book of Mormon. As soon as Kurt thinks it, silvery white fruit appears on the limb just above his head, glowing like lanterns. Kurt’s surprised to find it isn’t shaped like an apple or pear, but more like a butternut squash.

“Here,” says Jacob, picking the fruit and handing it to Kurt. “It’s sweet.”

Kurt’s heart beats faster as he bites into it. It tastes like cheesecake. He’s so happy he starts to cry. The Holy Ghost’s presence is almost tangible.

“Heavenly Father loves you,” Jacob says, and kisses him—not like the serene, gentle glow of the stars but more like the frenzied rush of Kurt’s heart. Jacob tastes like cedar and skin and the misty night air, and his body is warm and pliant against Kurt’s, muscle and sinew and life. Jacob whispers against his ear, “Here am I; for thou didst call me.”

Kurt wakes up on the tail end of his orgasm, shame spreading from his hips to his heart.


	4. Unsteady Dating (Fall 2009)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mormon church encourages its younger members to start dating the opposite sex when they turn 16. Kurt obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references I Have Confidence from _The Sound of Music_. I’ve linked to audio on the Rodgers  & Hammerstein website.

When Kurt turns 16, his dad hands him the keys to a refurbished Lincoln Navigator and says, “I don’t care if you’re old enough to be dating now. Any shenanigans with girls in there and I sell it out from under you.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about that, Dad. I’m only planning to go on group dates, just like the church teaches.”

“Yeah, well I was a teenager once and I know having a whole pack of kids in a car doesn’t always prevent mischief.”

“Ugh, Dad, too much information.” Kurt shakes his head to clear it of the image. “Besides, you weren’t in the church back then. I am, and I’m not hosting any orgies in the Navigator, okay?”

Kurt is a devout reader of _New Era,_ the church’s youth magazine, and all the articles on dating say the same thing: go on lots of dates with lots of different people so you learn how to interact with the opposite sex, but don’t go steady with anyone. Holding hands with someone you really like as a friend is okay, but stop if it leads to entangled emotions. Kissing for longer than a quick peck is just asking for trouble.

Serious dating isn’t for teenagers. It’s only for people who are ready to get married, and men are only ready to get married when they’ve returned from their missions.

Kurt loves hanging out with girls, but he doesn’t want to make out with them. The church’s rules fit him perfectly.

* * *

Mercedes Jones is cute, opinionated, and isn’t afraid to take bold fashion risks. She often fails to take the _right_ risks, but Kurt can forgive that. At least she tries.

So he asks her on a date. “Some of my friends from church are going to sing-along _Sound of Music_ this Friday. Do you want to come along?”

She blushes. “I’d love to.”

Bonus: Puck dated Mercedes for a couple weeks and acted like a love-sick puppy when she dumped him. Even though Puck’s in the glee club and theoretically one of the good guys now, Kurt’s not above a little romantic revenge.

Mercedes is the first person he picks up on the way to the movie, but he’s not worried. She’s a Christian. It’s not like she’s going to throw herself on him when she gets into the car.

“I have a confession to make,” she says as Kurt pulls out of her driveway, blushing just as much as she did when he asked her out. Her cheeks turn this sort of plummy color that makes Kurt think of a dark chocolate cake filled with raspberry coulis. He can almost taste it on his tongue.

He wonders if this means he’s attracted to her, or obsessed with desserts. He hopes it’s the former. “What’s that?”

“I’ve never actually seen _The Sound of Music._ I don’t know if I’ll be able to sing along.”

Kurt resists the urge to quirk a disapproving eyebrow at her. He needs to keep his eyes on the road. “How have you gone your whole life without seeing _The Sound of Music_?”

She shrugs. “I’m not really into musicals, to be honest.”

Kurt pulls to the side of the road. His father told him never to drive when he was upset, and Kurt takes that admonition seriously. “How can you not be into musicals? They’re, they’re—” He’s so worked up he can’t put his words together. Mercedes couldn’t have shocked him more if she’d casually dismissed the importance of God. “You’re in Glee Club, Mercedes! It’s, like, a rule.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes and giggles. “It’s not a _rule_ , Kurt. And I don’t hate them. But I haven’t seen a million of them the way you have.”

“You’re not coming along just to make fun of it?” Kurt eyes her suspiciously.

“No.”

“Then why are you coming?”

She smiles again. Her cheeks are still that pretty purple sort of color. Kurt wonders momentarily if she’s not blushing at all and it’s actually rouge. “Because I like you.”

“Oh.” Kurt’s not sure what to say in response to that. Does she like him, or _like_ him? He’s not sure he wants to know, at least not yet. He looks into driver side mirror and pulls back onto the road.

“You know, Kurt, when you get embarrassed, your ears turn the color of my nail polish. That’s kind of cute.”

“Um, thank you?”

Mercedes giggles again.

They pick up one friend and then another and another. It’s not until the SUV is full that Kurt realizes how white all of his church friends are. Well, there is that one Tongan girl, but she couldn’t make it today. Kurt thinks about mentioning this to Mercedes but then realizes there’s really no good reason to. Besides, she doesn’t seem weirded out by it. He thinks about the demographics of McKinley and realizes she’s probably used to being surrounded by white people.

They have fun at the show. Mercedes turns out to recognize half the songs anyway, so she can sing along right with everybody else—and she even joins in on the songs she doesn’t know as soon as enough of the melody has played to give her a good handle on it.

Kurt offers his elbow to her as they walk out of the theater. “You have a much nicer voice than Rachel Berry,” he says. “Mr. Schuester should give you a solo for sectionals.”

She blinks her pretty lashes. “You do, too, Kurt. Maybe we could convince him to have you do that ‘[I Have Confidence](http://www.rnh.com/videos.html?video=109&gallery=170&vpg=7)’ song. You’d bring down the house.”

Kurt’s heart skips a beat. No one’s ever complimented his singing before. “You know how Mr. Schuester feels about me singing girl songs.”

“Mr. Schuester is stupid. It’s not a girl song. Not if a man is singing it.”

Kurt almost does a double-take. He can’t remember anyone outside of church calling him a man before, either. He reaches across his chest to cover the hand Mercedes has hooked around his elbow. “Thank you, Mercedes.”

He thinks he could probably fall in love with her one day when he gets back from his mission, if she’s joined the church by then. He starts working on a plan to convert her.

* * *

Kurt doesn’t go heavy-handed with his conversion techniques. He builds on the religious foundation they already share by texting passages from the New Testament. She texts back with her favorites. It helps Kurt as much as it helps Mercedes. Whenever he has a thought he catches himself looking at a boy longer than he should—and these days, it usually seems to be Finn Hudson—he looks away and starts running through all the memorized scriptures he has stored in his head until he finds one that resonates with him.

These days, it’s usually “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” This yoke of same-sex attraction doesn’t feel light at all, but if Kurt reminds himself that Jesus will help him carry it, it doesn’t feel quite as bad.

Once he and Mercedes are set in their scripture-swapping routine, Kurt occasionally slips in something from the Book of Mormon that’s relevant to what’s going on in her life at the moment. When Mr. Schuester stops showing up to rehearsals and glee club has to hire a choreographer to make up for his slack, the only way they can think of to raise the money is by holding a piddly car wash.

 _How are we supposed to raise $8000 from a car wash?_ Mercedes texts him from across the choir room while Rachel and Quinn bicker at each other in the front.

Kurt texts back with _By small and simple things are great things brought to pass_ from Alma 37:6.

 _Did Jesus say that?_ Mercedes texts back.

_No, one of his prophets._

_Well, I like it. It sounds like Jesus._

Kurt smiles to himself. Sometimes he wishes it was possible to high-five the Holy Spirit.

His church youth group, which everyone calls Mutual, has a trip to a corn maze planned for that night. Mercedes is his date again. Kurt wonders if they should switch up who she’s paired off with, but she still doesn’t know the other kids very well and besides, he likes being next to her better than any of the church girls. She’s loud and sometimes she says “hell,” and even though Kurt doesn’t technically approve of such language, hearing her swear fills him with a delightful flush of warmth that he wouldn’t trade for the world. He’s not sure if the heat is from embarrassment, disapproval, admiration or his own inner rebelliousness, but it feels amazing. Maybe it’s love.

* * *

“We should probably move on to another car, Kurt,” Mercedes says over the hood of Kurt’s Navigator. They’re at the carwash and have been detailing it for the past hour. She likes his dedication to cleanliness—it makes him good potential husband material—but it drives her a little crazy sometimes too.

“We’re not done yet. My baby may never recover from all that mud at the corn maze.” He strokes the car affectionately. Mercedes looks forward to the day he touches _her_ like that. “Have you detailed the tire rims?”

“Your rims are clean. We polished them like three times already.”

He nods like this is good news, but not good enough. “Let’s do another once-over, and then we can stop. Did you bring a change of clothes? Because we’re going straight to sing-along Sound of Music.” He says it so casually, like it’s not a big deal. But it’s the third date they’ve gone on. It’s a _huge_ deal.

“So listen Kurt, this is like the third time we’ve gone out. Can’t we just make it official?”

“Make what official?”

“You know, that we’re dating.”

Kurt’s mouth drops open. Mercedes realizes that even his lips flush pinker when he’s embarrassed. That’s kind of … hot. “I’m sorry, Mercedes, but I thought I made it very clear. I’m not supposed to go steady with anyone until I get back from my mission.”

“Isn’t that in, like, five years?”

“Around that. Yes.”

“So are you telling me that your church requires you to be a player until then?”

“The opposite, Mercedes. Going steady tempts teenagers and all kinds of bad situations. Premarital sex, pregnancy—”

“Kurt, I’m a Christian too. I don’t want to get into that stuff, either. I just like hanging out with you.” She bites her bottom lip. “And maybe holding your hand.”

His lips flush redder. “I like those things, too, Mercedes.”

“So, what do you say?”

Kurt looks down at the sponge in his hand. “I’m sorry, Mercedes. I can’t be exclusive. Teenagers get lots of crushes, and they’re all fleeting, and—” His eyes focus on something behind her.

Mercedes spins around to see Rachel squeezing out a car sponge. Rachel: her arch-nemesis, the girl that she always felt comfortable gabbing with Kurt about because she thought he disliked her just as much. She turns back to Kurt. “You have a crush on Rachel?”

Kurt clears his throat. “Yes.”

“You two-timing man-ho!” She picks a stone off the asphalt and throws it through his windshield.

* * *

Kurt and Mercedes are on the outs for a while after that. He misses her, but it gives him an opportunity to invite someone else to singalong _Sound of Music._ He might as well follow through on his pretend crush and ask Rachel.

Rachel throws herself him and practically squeezes the air out of his lungs. “I’d love to! I’ve always wanted a best gay.”

“I’m not gay, Rachel. I’m Mormon.”

She scrunches her eyebrows at him. “Are you sure? I have excellent gaydar, you know. Both my dads are gay.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt says, because he is. He struggles with same-sex attraction, but when he gets to heaven, or maybe even before, this burden will be taken from him. He’ll be his true self—straight like God intended. “Gay” is a word for people who think they can’t change. It’s an identity, and Kurt’s only identity is as a follower of Christ.

Rachel shrugs. “Okay. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m planning to hold on to the gift of my virginity until I’m twenty-five.” She hooks her arm around his elbow and shuts her locker. It feels a little awkward to Kurt, not familiar and comforting the way Mercedes’ touch is, but Kurt doesn’t shake her off. Letting girls touch yolu is the only way to get used to them touching you, after all. Rachel hums happily to herself and says, “So what should we wear to _The Sound of Music?_ Do we go as Maria and Captain Von Trapp, or Liesl and Rolfe?”

Kurt’s head spins. “You’re Jewish. You’d want to go with a Nazi?”

“Rolfe’s not so bad in the Broadway version.”

“But this isn’t the Broadway version.”

“True.” Rachel reaches up and tousles Kurt’s hair. “Though really, tint your hair blond and you’d be an Aryan poster child: the perfect Rolfe.”

Kurt swats her hands away. “Are you making fun of me?” He smoothes his back down as well as he can without a mirror.

“No,” she says. “Just typecasting you.”

Kurt grumbles, though Rachel thinking about him in terms of any role at all is probably meant to be a compliment. “I think I’d rather go as Maria and Captain Von Trapp. I’ve never aspired to be a Nazi.”

Rachel squeezes his arm. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful romance.”

“It’s just a date, Rachel. Not a proposal.”

“But that’s how all great romances begin, isn’t it?”

* * *

Dating Rachel is fun. She turns out to have as much of the Judy Garland catalog memorized as he does, and they can reenact their favorite duets from _The Sound of Music_ by heart, complete with choreography. They talk about reviving the school drama club, but without a pederast at its head. Her ambition is contagious. For the first time in his life, Kurt lets himself dream of being a star one day.

But dating Rachel is also irritating. She gets upset with him when he hits Maria’s high notes as well as she does, and she’s constantly parading him in front of Finn Hudson like some kind of prize—especially after everyone finds out that Quinn is pregnant and Finn’s the baby-daddy. Whenever Finn and Quinn hold hands in the choir room, Rachel scoots her chair closer to Kurt and squeezes his hand harder.

“I’m not your boyfriend, Rachel,” Kurt says, loud enough that he hopes Mercedes can hear them in the back row.

“Friends can hold hands,” she says.

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t worry,” she whispers back. “I’m not in love with you. I’m just trying to make Finn jealous.”

Kurt thinks about this. He wonders if it could work the other way, too—if Finn sees Kurt as someone happily in love, will he realize what a catch Kurt is and finally dump Quinn?

Kurt immediately squelches the thought. He’s not supposed to want that kind of love from Finn. And besides, Finn got Quinn pregnant. The only right thing would be for Finn to marry her and raise the baby together.

Anyway, the only person likely to get jealous is Mercedes. He feels her eyes boring into the back of his head, but he doesn’t dare turn around. He deserves her contempt. The way he’s been acting lately—it’s not right.

He pulls his hand away from Rachel’s. “Hand-holding should be a sign of mutual affection. I’m not feeling very affectionate toward you right now.”

Rachel folds her hands across her chest and harrumphs. Then she solves this dilemma the way she solves everything. She stomps to the front of the room yelling, “Mr. Schuester, I’ve prepared a solo!”

If Kurt was actually attracted to her, he might be jealous of her obvious crush on Finn. But he’s not, so he isn’t. He feels a combination of annoyance and sympathy, because he knows what it’s like to want Finn Hudson and not be able to have him. He wishes she were better at hiding her feelings, though. The puppy-dog eyes she makes at Finn when she thinks no one’s looking are pathetic. Does Kurt look at Finn that way? He shudders at the thought. Like the prophets and apostles say, it’s one thing to have same-sex feelings. But acting on them is sin, and Kurt is pretty sure puppy-dog eyes are as much a form of action as holding hands and kissing.

* * *

Glee rehearsal runs late that day. By the time they get out, the halls of McKinley look like a ghost town. Kurt feels the old dread creeping up his neck. Empty halls are the worst, because then there are no witnesses to temper Noah Puckerman’s wrath if he decides to ambush Kurt.

Kurt takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Puck is in glee club now. Kurt’s no longer a target unless he does something specific to incur Puck’s wrath. He’s pretty sure casually dating Rachel isn’t enough to provoke an attack.

As he opens his locker, he hears footsteps at the far end of the hall. ven from this distance, he can tell they aren’t Puck’s. The steps are softer and less menacing. He looks up to see Mercedes walking toward him.

“Hey Kurt,” she says gently. It’s the first time she’s addressed him directly in weeks. “I just wanted to say I really sorry I did that to your car. I’ve been praying about it and—well, I should have made this right earlier. I’ll pay for it to get fixed.”

Kurt feels a lump forming in his throat. He feels like crying—from anger or relief, he’s not sure. All he knows is that he really missed Mercedes, and he doesn’t want her to know how much. He straightens his scarf on its hook in the locker so he doesn’t have to look directly at her. “It’s okay. My dad already fixed it.”

She leans against the locker and smiles at him with those lovely, full lips he wishes he wanted to kiss. “I just wanted to say, I hope it works out between you and Rachel. You’ll have really cute, loud babies.”

He doesn’t answer. He’s not sure what to say. He’s been so confused lately.

Perhaps he should remind her that he’s not supposed to think about girls that way, but that would be evading the real problem—that he’s not sure he _can_ feel that way, even if he were allowed to. He tries to hold onto the hope that he could fall in love with Mercedes one day with enough dedication and persistence, or with a girl like her. But then he turns around and looks at Finn Hudson and gets smacked with the realization that who you fall in love with isn’t entirely a matter of choice.

“Mercedes, I lied to you. I don’t like Rachel. Not in that way.”

She tilts her head. “Is it someone else?”

He takes a deep breath. _Finn_ is such a simple syllable. He could say it in one exhalation. But speaking it out loud—that would be a way of acting on his same-sex feelings, wouldn’t it? It would make them more real.

He blinks back tears. “No. I just—I can’t get into anything serious right now, Mercedes. And it’s not just because the prophets say not to, though of course that’s important. It’s also that I don’t even know who I am. I can’t be there for you in the way you want me to.”

For a second, Kurt thinks Mercedes is going to reach for his hand. He wishes she would. But instead, she leans against the lockers. “I get that. I don’t know myself half the time, either,” she says. “Jesus should be the most important man in my life, anyway. But I hope we can still be friends?”

Kurt nods. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Good.” She smiles. “I’ve missed you. You help make my faith stronger, Kurt.”

“Thanks. You help me too.”

When he gets home that afternoon he reads over Alma 37:6-7. He has the passage memorized, but it helps sometimes to see the words in print. “Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise. And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls.”

He wonders if his friendship with Mercedes is one of these small and simple things, and whose salvation it might lead to. His own, if he eventually feels for her all the things he feels for Finn? Hers, if she joins the church? Or maybe the two of them will be a shining example of Christian kindness and chastity for the rest of McKinley, and lead souls to Christ that way.

He smiles. Even if he doesn’t want to kiss her, he’s glad to have her as his friend.

 


	5. As Brothers in Zion (Fall 2009)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mormon!Kurt knows it’s wrong to fall in love with another boy. So when he develops feelings for Finn Hudson, he tries to push them in a more fraternal direction. Parallels to 1.10 “Ballad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were published on [tumblr as "Choose the Right."](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/95055861795/ficlet-choose-the-right-mormon-kurt-au-pg-13)
> 
> Title based on the LDS hymn [“As Sisters in Zion”](https://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/as-sisters-in-zion-women?lang=eng) by 19th century Mormon poet Emily H. Woodmansee. You can listen to Gil Scott Heron’s [“You Could Be My Brother”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4y6ilEdsSf4) on YouTube. Curious what CTR rings look like? A couple are pictured in the chapter 3 header, and I posted [a few pictures](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/95024659250/i-need-help-picking-out-a-choose-the-rightctr) on my tumblr.

Being a good Mormon boy doesn’t keep Kurt from falling in love with Finn Hudson.

It does, however, keep Kurt from calling it love.

Infatuation. Crush. Inappropriate longing. Misplaced passion. Those are the phrases he uses when he prays about it, along with, “Heavenly Father, help me see him as a brother.”

There’s nothing wrong with admiration, or with wanting to be closer to someone. It’s the way in which Kurt wants to be closer that’s wrong. It’s not exactly sexual, but it’s more than what he’s ever felt for a girl. Kurt wants to touch Finn, and be close to him, and to share the same air that Finn breathes.

But he doesn’t let his desires cross the line. Kurt isn’t sure what two guys do together and, frankly, he’s not sure he wants to know. He figures that whatever it is, it involves twice the mess of wet dreams, and that's—well, it must be gross having to deal not only with your own mess, but with another boy’s, too. The idea repulses him.

At least, it terrifies him.

So no, it’s not about sex. It’s about …

It’s about Finn’s gentle eyes. It’s about the way Finn rescued him from Puck over and over again—pouring the Kahlua down the drain, making sure Puck didn’t hurt him when he threw him in the dumpster, and eventually convincing Puck to stop beating him up at all. It’s about Finn’s gullibility (Kurt doesn’t know why he finds that so irresistible, but he does) and his innocence. (Yes, Kurt knows it’s ironic that he uses the term “innocent” to describe a boy who knocked up a girl out of wedlock. But how was Finn supposed to know any better? He’s never had the benefit of the church to teach him what’s right and what’s wrong, and why. And Finn’s trying so hard to do right by Quinn now, to repair what he can of his mistakes. They’re going to let their daughter be adopted by a married couple who can give her a better life than they can. So, yes—despite Finn’s mistakes, he has an innocent heart. Kurt knows that Heavenly Father approves of that.)

Plus, he and Finn have a lot in common. They’re both in glee club; they’ve both dated Rachel, or at least gone bowling with her; and they’ve both gotten slammed into lockers by David Karofsky, who’s taken over from Puck as the school bully.

If only Kurt could admire Finn as a friend and leave it at that. But no. His unnatural heart twists admiration into desire, and sometimes Kurt finds himself looking too long at Finn’s lips and wondering what they taste like. Probably slushies and fries and warm, soft skin.

He catches himself and looks away.

If Mercedes is around he turns to her and smiles. He holds onto the longing he feels and studies her face. Maybe if he looks at her long enough, those feelings he has around Finn? They’ll come naturally every time he looks at her, too. After all, her lips can’t taste much different. She drinks slushies and is made of flesh and blood. She eats tater tots instead of fries, but since they’re both made out of potatoes, grease and salt, the flavors would probably come across all the same in a kiss.

If Mercedes isn’t around, Kurt looks down at his hands and focuses on the CTR ring he wears on his right hand. “CTR” comes from the title of an old Latter-day Saint hymn, Choose the Right: it’s a reminder that God has given Kurt the freedom to make his own choices, but he’ll be happier if he chooses the path that God has laid out for him, even when it’s hard to understand.

Kurt has two CTR rings that he switches off depending on his outfit and mood: a stainless steel belt buckle design with “CTR” embossed perpendicularly on the belt loop, and another made of two bands: a stable inner band printed with “CTR” and a spinning outer band made from interlocking chain links. Both were gifts from his father, picked out with Kurt’s help: the first to commemorate Kurt’s ordination as a deacon when he turned 12, and the second when Kurt turned 16 and was ordained as a priest. His hand has grown enough in the past four years that the belt buckle ring is almost too small for his pinky finger, but that’s part of its allure. He feels safe and contained when he’s wearing it; Kurt often finds himself running his fingers absentmindedly over the belt buckle, pretending he can loosen it and secretly glad that he can’t.

He’s wearing the spinning CTR ring the day that Mr. Schue scrawls “Ballad” across the whiteboard at the front of the choir room. Kurt’s spine goes cold; there’s no way this week is going to go well. Ballads are love songs, and Kurt doesn’t know anything about love.

Mr. Schue asks the class what the word means. Brittany shouts out that it’s a male duck. The other class members start to titter, and Kurt starts fidgeting with his ring in secondhand embarrassment.Choose the right, it reminds him, and he raises his hand to deflect the class’s attention off Brittany.

“A ballad is a love song,” he says when Mr. Schue calls on him.

“Sometimes,” Mr. Schue answers. “Ballads are stories set to music, which is why they’re the perfect storm of self expression. Stories and music are the way we express feelings that we can’t get out any other way.”

Kurt’s stomach lurches. That’s even worse. Kurt has plenty of feelings that he can’t get out, but he never wants to get them out. Letting them out would give them power; ignoring them is the only way to have victory over them.

Mr. Schue announces that the members of glee club will work in pairs over the next week, singing to partners chosen at random out of a hat: “Look them right in the eye, find an emotion you want to express, and make them feel it.”

Kurt says a silent prayer that his partner will be Mercedes; his church has always taught him that right actions lead to right thoughts, so if he sings a love ballad to her, maybe he can learn to have the kinds of feelings that a boy should have about a girl.

But Puck draws Mercedes’ name, and then Finn draws Kurt’s name out of the hat—and despite protests from Finn and Kurt both, Mr. Schue won’t budge. “The fates have spoken,” he says smugly.

“Satan has spoken,” Kurt mutters under his breath.

* * *

It’s later that afternoon, and Finn’s been trying to wash the marker off his face for the past ten minutes and it still won’t come off. He grabs his cell phone from his locker and calls Kurt. “Kurt, I need your help, buddy. Meet me in the locker room.”

Kurt walks in a few minutes with that brisk stride he gets when he’s a man on a mission. He stops abruptly when he sees Finn’s face. “Finn, what happened to you?”

“Karofsky and Azimio. They wanted to practice for when they draw Hitler mustaches on my yearbook picture.”

Kurt takes Finn’s chin in his hand and looks at one side of Finn’s face, then the other. “If they wanted to make a Hitler mustache, why’d they draw on your cheeks? Neanderthals.”

“I thought maybe one of your special soaps could help get it off.”

Kurt pulls off his satchel and sets it on the bench. “You’re in luck. I always keep alpha-hydroxy exfoliating cleanser with microbeads in my locker. If that doesn’t work, 20 minutes with a peeling mask should do the trick.”

“You mean, like, peeling my skin off?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll end with balancing moisturizer. Your skin will feel as smooth as silk. The girls go crazy for that kind of thing.”

“How do you know? I thought you don’t make out with girls. Aren’t you, like—”

Kurt turns bright red. “You should never listen to anything Noah Puckerman says.” He spins around and walks toward his locker.

“Wait. So you’re not actually Mormon?”

“Oh.” Kurt pulls his dopp kit from his locker. His back is still toward Finn. He clears his throat. “That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”

Finn shrugs. “What else would I have said. Christians and Mormons are the only dudes who don’t make out with girls.”

“Mormons _are_ Christians.” Kurt walks to the sinks and waves Finn over. He shows Finn how to use the cleanser, then the mask, and finally the moisturizer. Finn’s skin is as clean and fresh as new pair of sneakers when he’s done.

“Dude. How do you know all this stuff?” Finn says.

“What stuff?”

“Taking care of your skin. You’re the only guy I know who I can go to for skin care advice.”

Kurt zips open his dopp kit so it’s almost flat and puts the bottles back in little elastic loops stitched to the inside. It’s the most organized dopp kit Finn has ever seen. Everything has its place. Finn sort of wishes he could be that neat.

“I’m planning to be a missionary after high school. Missionaries should always be clean and well-groomed, because we’re representing Jesus Christ. And since I’m the only Mormon at this school, I’m kind of a missionary here, too. So I might as well start now.”

Finn thinks about it. “Like Mitt Romney?”

“Sorry?” Kurt gives Finn that look that people have when they don’t know what you’re talking about but are too polite to point out that you’re not very good at making yourself clear.

“Mitt Romney always looks good. He’s Mormon.” Finn thinks about it some more. “But Obama usually looks good, too, and he’s not Mormon.”

Kurt pats Finn on the shoulder. “You don’t have to be Mormon to care about the state of your skin, Finn. If you want, I can give you some sample sizes of the stuff we used today, and you can use them even when Azimio and Karofsky haven’t drawn all over your face.”

Finn smiles. “That’d be awesome. Thanks, dude.”

* * *

Kurt adds a new request to his morning and evening prayers: “Let me find a song that will help me have right feelings toward Finn.” He flips through his CD collection, scours the online database of LDS hymns, and listens to Pandora for hours on end. But he can’t find a single song that would be both appropriate and safe to sing to Finn.

Finding something for Finn to sing is easier. Finn wants to serenade his baby—of course he does, good, sweet Finn. Kurt suggests The Pretenders’ “I’ll Stand By You” because his mother used to sing it to him after they found out she was going to die.

“I won’t be here with you in my body,” she’d say. “But I’ll be right on the other side of the veil, watching over you. And one day we’ll be together again in heaven.”

The prophets teach that the spirit world is all around us, right here on earth. The dead live among us, invisibly, as they wait for the heavens to open. It was an idea that gave Kurt great comfort in the days and months after her death, knowing that at any given moment she might be right beside him. He thought sometimes he felt her arms around him, as warm as when she’d been alive.

After school, he’d go to his Aunt Mildred’s house on days when the garage was too busy for his dad to keep a proper eye on him. Mildred had a piano stacked with fake books higher than his head. She taught him the basics, and then easy pop songs. When he asked her to teach him “I’ll Stand By You,” she teared up and took a swig of wine from her tea cup.

She wasn’t a good Mormon.

“Of course, honey,” she said. “I think your mother would love that.”

He practiced it for hours. A week into it, he was playing it so well that his aunt could sing right along. Her voice was beautiful, as clear and bright as his own mother’s. He looked up from the keys to say so, and realized Aunt Mildred’s mouth wasn’t moving.

“Weren’t you—I thought you were—”

She furrowed her brows at him. It’s the same worried look his mother used to give him. “What is it, honey?”

“I heard you singing.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t, though.”

He shrugged and went back to playing.

Two days later, while Aunt Mildred was in the backyard chasing a neighborhood cat away from the birdfeeder, he heard it again.

“Mom?” He stopped playing. “Is that you?” But there was no answer—not until he started playing again, and her voice rose up with the music.

His eyes were red from crying by the time Aunt Mildred came back in. He could see them in the mirror on the face of the piano. He didn’t care.

“Kurt, honey, what’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothing. Everything’s right.”

She slid down onto the bench next to him and rubbed his back. “What do you mean?”

“It was mom I heard the other day, singing to me from the other side of the veil. I heard her again just now.”

Aunt Mildred squeezed him so hard he could barely breathe. She kissed him on the forehead. “You’re so blessed.”

That was the last time it happened, though sometimes Kurt thought he felt his mother’s presence as he played it, like she was standing just behind him, following the sheet music with her eyes. Everything would be suddenly right with the universe, even on the worst days.

But it’s been a long time since he felt that.

Halfway through practicing “I’ll Stand By You” with Finn, his mother’s voice comes to him as clear as day. She’s as loud as Finn, harmonizing perfectly with his sorrow.

Kurt’s so surprised he almost stops playing. But he knows if he does, she’ll stop singing. So he keeps going, playing for her now as much as for Finn. He throws in an extra bridge to keep the song going, and tries not to think about what all of this means because then he’ll trip on his notes.

He can’t stop thinking about it on his drive home, though. He wonders if his mother is sitting next to him in the passenger seat. He decides to talk to her like she is. “Mom, I love him, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

* * *

Kurt doesn’t get an answer from his mother right away. But it comes two days later in the form of Gil Scott Heron’s “[You Could Be My Brother](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4y6ilEdsSf4).” Kurt knows the song has to be from either her or the Holy Ghost, because there’s no way Pandora’s algorithms should lead to that song playing on Kurt’s “Musicals and Torch Songs” station.

  
Wouldn’t you like to feel there’ll be folks with you when you take a stand?  
And wouldn’t you like to feel you hold your destiny in your own hand?  
And wouldn’t you like to feel there’s enough respect out there for each and every man?  
Don’t you understand you could be my brother?

Kurt listens to the lyrics, and it dawns on Kurt. Finn can be his brother. Not just figuratively, in the way he’s been praying for.

No, Finn can become his actual brother. Finn’s mom is a widow—and even though she isn’t much like Kurt’s mom at all, she is compassionate, and she has a practical and down-to-earth quality that Kurt likes. His father would probably like it even more.

Maybe his father would like her enough that he’d consider getting married again.

And if that happened, Kurt and Finn would be literal brothers, and the inappropriate longing that keeps stabbing Kurt in the heart would have to go away, because no one feels those kinds of things for a sibling. The day-to-day of living as a family would remove the air of innocence and mystery that surrounds Finn; Kurt would be confronted instead with Finn’s messy room and his smelly socks and the quarrels he probably gets into sometimes with his mother, and then—

Kurt would be free.

Kurt would learn to love Finn the way that men are supposed to love each other.

And Kurt’s dad and Finn’s mom would get married for time and eternity in the temple, and Finn would get sealed to Burt as his son here and in the afterlife, and after the Resurrection they would all go to heaven together to be a family with Kurt’s mom.

Kurt and Finn would spend forever together in the celestial kingdom.

Everything would be perfect.

Kurt stays up all night learning the lyrics to “You Could Be My Brother” and sings it to Finn the next day in the empty choir room.

_And wouldn’t you like to see a space and time exist were all men can truly be free?  
Yes, well, that’s a lot like me. You could be my brother._

But Finn—he doesn’t seem to get it. It doesn’t seem to register at all that this is about him and Kurt and their families, not even when Kurt finishes and says, “You and your mom should come over for family home evening next Monday.”

“Family home what?” says Finn, one half of his face scrunched up the way it gets when Finn’s confused—which is a lot.

“Family home evening. In my church, families set aside an evening each week to spend time together and have fun. I usually make dinner and then we play board games or do scrapbooking. Stuff like that.”

“So if it’s for your family … wouldn’t it be weird for me and my mom to come over?”

Kurt shakes his head earnestly. “No. Everyone’s a child of God. So you’re family.”

“Huh.” Finn’s face relaxes a little and he nods once, slowly. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Well, it’s true,” Kurt says, picking his books up off the piano bench in an effort at nonchalance. “So talk to your mom and let me know.” He turns toward the door.

“We can bring Quinn, right?”

Kurt’s spine goes stiff. He forces a smile and brushes his fingers over his CTR ring before turning to face Finn again. “Of course,” he says. “She’s family, too.”

* * *

As they walk to their lockers afterward, they’re greeted by twin cups of cold liquid. Azimio throws a red slushie in Finn’s face; Karofsky throws iced coffee in Kurt’s.

“Hey, glee fags!” shouts Azimio.

“Seriously. What is your problem?” Kurt wipes the back of his hand against his mouth to keep any coffee from running into it.

Karofsky and Azimio just walk away, like Kurt’s not even worth answering.

Finn slaps him on the back. “C’mon, bro. Let’s go use some of your fancy cleansers.”

Despite the cold coffee dripping down his face and shirt ( _thank you God for inspiring me to wear black today_ ), Kurt feels warm inside. Finn not only said “bro,” but he also said “cleanser,” which means Kurt’s influence is rubbing off on him. They’re practically brothers already.


	6. Eternal Family (Spring-Fall 2010)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burt Hummel and Carole Hudson fall in love. Finn and Kurt are practically brothers. They’re even being bullied by the same guy.

The Hudsons don’t come over for family home evening that Monday, but when Carole Hudson and Burt Hummel finally meet, they hit it off beyond Kurt's wildest expectations.

They go on their first date, and then on their second, and a few dates later when Burt asks what Carole would think about dating exclusively, she laughs so hard water comes out her nose.

Burt looks confused and maybe a little hurt, but she can't stop smiling. He's just so _sweet_. She reaches across the table and pats his hand. "Honey, it's nice that you think men are lining up to ask me out, but we've been dating exclusively since … well, before we started dating."

Burt stammers and scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, then mumbles something that Carole can’t quite hear, but by the tone can tell is self-effacing.

Their hands are still joined across the table; Carole gives his a strong squeeze. "And even if they were—I've only had eyes for you since your son introduced us at that parent-teacher conference and you complimented my acid-wash jeans."

Burt stops fidgeting, the corner of his mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile. "Really?"

"Really."

"Me, too." He turns his hand around in hers and laces their fingers together. “It’s weird. I never thought—” He pauses, but the way he’s looking at her with those gentle eyes, it’s like the conversation is still going. Burt Hummel isn’t the most talkative man, or the most articulate. But he doesn’t have to be. He’s got a face that’s an open book. She loves that about him.

She’s pretty damn sure she loves him, which seems a crazy thing to think because she hasn’t even slept with him yet.

“I tried dating for a while a couple years after Elizabeth died. She’d told me not to spend my life alone, but—” He shrugs. “After a while it seemed silly, dating just to date. I told her Kurt was enough company for me.”

Carole smiles in recognition. She still spoke to Christopher sometimes, though not as much as she used to. “Do you still talk to her?”

Burt nods. “The church teaches that the people we love are close by even after death. We’re not supposed to pray to them, but I don’t think there’s any harm in talking to them.” He looks down at their joined hands. “I told her about you.”

“Burt.” Her eyes fill with tears and her nose starts to run a little the way it always does when she tries not to cry. She’s so happy she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

Burt drives her home, and one quick goodnight kiss in the car turns into another, and another, and pretty soon the kisses aren’t quick anymore. She feels like a teenager. Every time one of them pulls away for even a fraction of a second, she misses him already—the feel of him against her skin, the taste of him in her mouth. She’s as giddy as a teenager, with none of the drawbacks. When she was young, she always felt like she had something to prove with each kiss, like she needed to earn men’s love. Hell, she’s thought that as an adult sometimes, too.

But she doesn’t feel that way now. Burt’s not expecting her to prove anything. He wants her as she is. She can feel it in the way he kisses her, in the way he’s been looking at her all night.

When they do eventually break away, she finds that the windows have literally fogged up. She bursts out laughing and squeezes his hand. “It’s been at least a decade since I steamed up any car windows.”

Burt chuckles right along with her. “Longer for me.”

She looks at him. “You could come inside, if you want. We’re not teenagers anymore.”

"I think I'd better not." He leans back against the driver side window, increasing the distance between them. He’s still holding her hand, though, and looking at her like she hung the moon. She wonders how many other people have gotten to see him this way—not the solid, tough, salt-of-the-earth mechanic with hands permanently etched with grease stains, but a man whose heart is as soft as butter.

"Finn's not going to be home for another couple hours," she offers. Of course he feels hesitant. She used to worry so much about what Finn would think when she brought a new boyfriend home, and whether she was being a bad role model, but—

The memory of Finn sobbing over a sonogram flashes into her mind. Oh god. Maybe she _was_ a bad role model. Because even if they know now that Finn wasn't the father, he'd still been doing things that could _make_ him a father when he was way too young to handle the consequences.

Her stomach twists into a knot.

Burt shakes his head reluctantly. "I think I’d be tempted to show you to your bed, and I—”

“It’s been a long time?”

“That. And the church—”

Carole was already flushed from the kissing, but now so much blood rushes to her face she won’t be surprised if she wakes up tomorrow with a few broken capillaries on her nose. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. You’re a beautiful woman, Carole. And important to me, even if we haven’t known each other that long.”

The knot in her stomach loosens. “You’re important to me, too, Burt.”

He smiles at her in a way that is somehow shy and confident at the same time. It makes her feels weak in the knees. “I'd love to walk you to your door, though."

"That would be great."

They hold hands all the way to the front door. When they get there, Burt leaves a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow afternoon," he says as she goes inside. Her heart swoops—because she knows he will, right around 3 p.m., like he always does when she works the night shift. It's the best part of her day. Not only because she gets to hear his voice, but also because it's something she can depend on. There are so few things like that in life.

She's never dated anyone like Burt Hummel—someone who not only made her want to do everything she could to make him happy, but who made her trust he wants to do the same for her.

He's the first man she's loved who keeps all his promises, and that includes Finn's dad.

* * *

Kurt comes skipping into choir room the next Monday, alighting like a praying mantis into the seat next to Finn. “Your mom and my dad have hit it off pretty well, don’t you think?”

Finn stares at him, his mouth in a constipated-looking _oh._ Kurt wonders how he could have ever been attracted to him. He tries to memorize the goofy expression as a bulwark against future swooning. “Uh, sure, I guess. I don’t know. I haven’t really talked about it with my mom. I mean, you know—who wants to think about their parents’ sex lives?”

Kurt gives Finn a withering look. “My father is a temple-worthy member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He’s not _sleeping_ with your mom.”

“Wait. Mormons don’t have sex? How do they get all those wives pregnant?”

Kurt groaned. “ _One_ wife. You can only have one wife at a time, Finn. And sex is reserved for marriage.”

“Even for grown-ups?”

“Who else would be having sex?”

“Half the glee club.”

Kurt doesn’t respond because that would mean having to concede the point. He goes back to his original subject. “Anyway, I was just saying, I think our parents might be marriage material. If we’re going to be a family, maybe you guys should finally come over to family home evening. Or to sacrament meeting.”

“You really think our parents are going to get married?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “What rock do you live under, Finn? Have you looked at your mother lately? I only see her for five minutes here and there and even _I_ can tell what’s going on. It’s inevitable, Finn. We’re going to be a family. You’d better start adapting.”

Fin squints the way he did when he was having thoughts that were too complex for his mind to handle. “Say it’s true. Say they _are_ getting married. Why do I have to start going to your church? I’ve had enough of that with Quinn. Maybe your dad and you could _not_ go to church with me and my mom.”

Kurt fiddles with his CTR ring. “Because our church is true. And then we’d get to be a family forever. We’d see each other every day in heaven. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” He tries to control the racing that his heart always does when he contemplates spending eternity with Finn Hudson.

Finn shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Can the rest of the glee club come, too?”

Kurt quashes an evil thought about Noah Puckerman and says instead, “Sure.”

* * *

The whole Mormon thing is a little different, but Carole doesn't come to the relationship with a strong opinion about it either way. She loved the [Donny & Marie](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donny_%26_Marie_\(1976_TV_series\)) show when she was a kid, and she's driven past the grounds of the Mormon temple in Columbus a few times and wished she had the time and inclination to keep her own front yard that neat.

She's never been able to figure out how to make it look good since the lawn painter from Emerald Dreams left her for that hussy from Pick ’n Save.

She goes to church with Burt and Kurt one Sunday, her stomach fluttering almost as badly as when she was first pregnant with Finn. It’s been more than a decade since she’s stepped into a church, and never expected to again except for the occasional wedding or funeral.

It’s not that she’s got anything against God. It’s just that she never felt like she belonged there. As a kid, her only experience was a long, inexplicable weekly mass when she’d stay with her grandparents in the summer. The entire thing was conducted in Russian, and the only way Carole managed to stay awake was by listening for the few words of Russian she understood. Since pelmeni, knishes and rassolnik weren’t mentioned in the liturgy, that basically whittled it down to “father,” “mother,” and a dreadfully long mass where the most notable event was getting woozy from the incense.

She went through an evangelical phase in high school, mostly because a boy she had a crush on played rhythm guitar at his evangelical church’s worship band. The free pizza at every meeting of the Christian students’ club hadn’t hurt, either. There was a lot of talk about humility and kindness, of inviting everyone into the joy of salvation. Whenever she walked into a meeting, other kids would smile and hug her like she was long-lost family, even though half of them couldn’t remember her name from week to week.

She got over her crush on the rhythm guitarist. He turned out to be kind of a douchebag, actually, the fame of being in the worship band going to his head. But she kept going to church and meetings. When she got baptized in the backyard hottub of one of the church members—the pastor said her Orthodox one had been a devil’s ritual, and she risked going to hell without being born of the water and the spirit—one of the girls from the club gave her a Jesus fish necklace that she started to wear every day.

She put “God is my co-pilot” and “Do you follow Jesus this close?” bumper stickers on her car. She said grace before every meal. She gave 10 percent of her babysitting money to the church.

And then she met Finn’s dad, and slept with him, and confessed her sin at one of the Christian students’ meetings. Before she knew it, the entire school knew.

She tossed her Jesus fish necklace in the lost and found, scraped the bumper stickers off the back of her car, and started buying her own pizza. Her babushka was long dead, but she apologized to her anyway for rejecting her Orthodox baptism.

She wasn’t mad at God. She was mad at his followers. They pretended to be different from everyone else, but they weren’t. They talked about humility, but then bragged about their own salvation. They said they loved everyone, but they decorated their bodies and buildings and cars with Jesus fish and crosses to signal to each other that they were in the same club, and to let people like Carole know they weren’t good enough to belong.

When Christopher died and one of those old friends got up at his funeral to say, “Christopher Hudson died without a knowledge of Christ. It’s too late for him. But it’s not too late for you,” she swore she’d never step into a church again.

She prayed every day though—sometimes to Christopher, sometimes to her babushka, sometimes to an amorphous god. It was the only way she could get herself out of bed.

Burt Hummel’s church isn’t like any church Carole has been to before. Burt explains that it has a bishop instead of a pastor, that different people from the congregation take turns giving the sermons each week, and that communion features water instead of wine since Mormons don’t drink alcohol.

“Also,” Kurt says excitedly from the back seat as they drive to her first service, “we have no paid clergy. We all serve out of a love for our Heavenly Father, not out of a love of money.”

Burt gives an apologetic glance to Carole before looking back at the road.

“I saw that, Dad,” Kurt says. Carole stifles a laugh. The kid is so high-strung it verges on adorable. He leans against the back of her seat. “And we’re the only church with authority to perform priesthood ordinances.”

“Kurt,” Burt says in a warning tone, “Carole’s just coming along to be supportive. She didn’t sign up for missionary discussions.”

But Kurt’s a teenager, so naturally he ignores his father. “Has dad told you about baptism for the dead?”

Truth be told, she and Burt have kept all their discussions about religion pretty cursory. If she asks, he answers, but she’s never felt like he’s out to convert her. Unlike his son. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Other churches teach that if you don’t hear about the gospel and you don’t get baptized while you’re living, you go to hell. That’s kind of horrible, don’t you think?”

“Kurt—” Burt warns again.

Carole lays a hand on his forearm to let him know she doesn’t mind. “Yes. That’s part of why I stopped going to church at all. Someone came to my husband’s funeral and told everybody he was going to hell.”

“Carole, you never told me that,” Burt squeezes her hand.

She shrugs. “It’s not exactly an experience I like reliving.”

“Well,” Kurt says, “you don’t have to worry about that with us. Everyone gets a chance to accept the gospel, even after we die. And once we’re dead, it’s much easier to see how true the gospel is because—well, you’re in the afterlife, so it’s sort of obvious. God wants us all to go to heaven.”

Carole thinks about her evangelical friends in high school, and how they made a game of guessing “heaven or hell” every time a celebrity died. She doesn’t remember a single one who got voted into heaven by her friends.

“That’s lovely, Kurt,” she says, and means it.

No one says anything for a moment. Carole looks out the window. It’s a sunny spring day, bright and green. They pass a row of huge magnolia trees in bloom. “Your husband will be in heaven, too,” Kurt says, and Carole smiles. He has as big a heart as his father's.

The first thing Carole notices when they reach the church—or ward building, as Kurt keeps calling it—is the lack of Jesus fish plaques on the backs of cars. There are no evangelical bumper stickers, no crosses hanging from people’s rearview mirrors. There’s not even a cross fixed to the top of the building.

Inside, it’s incredibly plain, without the stained glass windows or gold-leaf paintings of her grandparents’ Orthodox church, or the evangelical church’s loud rock band and gnarled wooden cross hanging over the pulpit.

The sanctuary reminds Carole more of a community college classroom than a sanctuary, even with all the wooden pews lined up in neat rows. The walls are a nondescript, pale shade that she thought was white when she first walked in, but starts to look beige the longer she stares at it. The carpet is the same industrial brown they had at the diner she used to work at, perfect for hiding stains whenever a guest knocked coffee on the floor. And there are no crosses anywhere—not on the walls, or dangling from the thin gold chains that some of the women wear around their necks, or pinned to the men's ties.

The first hymn begins. It’s nothing fancy—just a pianist in the front, and a bunch of off-key parishioners in the pews. Kurt isn’t offkey. He sings clearly, and just loudly enough to coax the voices around him toward the right notes. Burt and Carole follow his lead, singing a tune as plain and unadorned as the building and the people in it.

Carole doesn't realize how wide she's smiling until she feels Burt's eyes on her. He keeps on singing without glancing down at the hymnal, his eyes alight with joy. Is it the music that makes him smile that way, or her?

She hopes it's both.

She looks back down at the hymnal to catch her place and sing along. _"All is well! All is well!"_

For one of the few times in her life, that sentiment rings absolutely true.

* * *

Dinner is amazing: sirloin tip with sauteed green beans from the farmer’s market and some fresh herbs that Kurt’s been growing on the windowsill this summer. The kid always cooks well, but when he’s not in school he has the time to take things a step further. Burt wonders where he got his culinary skills. It certainly wasn’t from him, and honestly Elizabeth wasn’t that great of a cook, either. Burt guesses it’s just dogged persistence on Kurt’s part. It’s a skill that the church teaches well. _Endure to the end_ is something Kurt’s heard almost every week in church since he was a baby. It’s never been one of Burt’s favorite mottos—it sounds fatalistic, like life is something to put up with until the relief of death finally comes—but he knows that’s not what it’s supposed to mean. It’s supposed to mean you should always do your best, never get lazy or irresponsible because you think you’ve already done enough to earn your place in heaven.

And Kurt takes it seriously, whether he’s applying it to scripture memorization or sewing. Burt sometimes wonders if the kid takes it too far—too much perfectionism doesn’t leave a lot of room for God’s grace—but what kind of father would he be if he told his kid to stop trying so hard? You don’t succeed in life by being lazy.

“Dad.” Kurt sets down his fork and looks over toward Burt, but not directly at him. His eyes hover somewhere between Burt’s chest and the pepper shaker at the center of the table.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Don’t you think we should invite Carole and Finn over for family home evening next week? You two are getting pretty serious.”

Burt almost chokes on his sirloin tip. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. His son has raised him as much as he’s raised his son. Burt never even knew how to set silverware out properly until Kurt showed him. The kid has always been an old soul, even before his mother got sick.

Burt takes a sip of water to give himself time to put some words together. “You’re right. We are pretty serious.”

“Are you going to get married?”

“I don’t know, Kurt. We haven’t talked about it.”

“But you’d like to.”

It’s true. Asking Carole is on the tip of his tongue whenever they talk. He just doesn’t know how to do it. Merging two lives together is so much more complicated when there are already kids involved. Whose house would they live in? Or would they get rid of their old homes and move into a new one? It doesn’t seem fair to ask Carole to leave the home she shared with her husband, even if things weren’t always roses between them. And leaving this place after so many years—Burt’s not sure where to begin. And what about church? He doesn’t want her to feel pressured into changing for him, but he’s not going to change for her, either. Not when it’s the only place Kurt seems genuinely happy these days. “How would you feel about that, me getting married again?”

Kurt folds his hands thoughtfully. “Would you get sealed in the temple?”

“She’s not a member, Kurt.”

“She might become one.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t doubt the power of the Holy Spirit, Dad.” Kurt raises one eyebrow the way he always does when someone does something he disapproves of. Burt knows it’s a defense mechanism as much as anything else—he only developed the habit after his mom died—but hopes he grows out of it before he goes on his mission. Judgmental missionaries are never a pleasure to be around. “Would you get sealed in the temple, if she was a member?”

Burt wasn’t much of a temple guy to be honest—the outfits and rituals still struck him as overly fancy even after all these years—but getting sealed to Elizabeth had been the exception. He remembered looking into the mirror with her and seeing their reflection going on into eternity, how overwhelmed he was at that moment by his love for her.

Whether Burt should get sealed again was a discussion he and Elizabeth had a lot before she died. He didn’t think it was right. A legal marriage was one thing, but a sealing for all eternity—he was sealed to Elizabeth already. He couldn’t have two wives in heaven. _Sure you can,_ was Elizabeth’s refrain, and he almost hated her for how easily she said it. He didn’t want her to let go of her claim on him, because that meant she was letting go of life. _You loving Kurt doesn’t make you love me any less, and you falling in love again won’t diminish how much you love me, either. And how will that make your wife feel, if you refuse to get sealed to her?_

 **_You’re_ ** _my wife, Elizabeth. You always will be._

He wonders now whether what Elizabeth said can be true. Sometimes, when he’s out with Carole, he feels like Elizabeth is right there with him, smiling at them through the veil.

“How would you feel about that?” Burt asks.

“I think that would be nice. We’d be a real family then. And you’d still be married to mom in heaven. I mean, you would, right? You wouldn’t ask the church to revoke your sealing to her, would you?”

“Of course I wouldn’t, Kurt. I’ll always love her.”

Kurt smiles—his small, genuine one, not the big toothless grimace he plasters on his face when he’s trying to pretend everything’s okay. It’s nice to see that smile. “I know I don’t remember Mom as well as I think I do, so maybe that means my opinion doesn’t matter, but—”

“Of course it matters. Tell me.”

“I get a feeling Mom would like Carole. And I like Carole, too.”

Burt gets choked up. “Thanks, Kurt. That means a lot to me.”

Kurt looks like he’s about to start crying, but he doesn’t. He blinks his eyes clear and his face goes suddenly mischievous. “But if we’re going to be a family, I _have_ to give her a makeover. Those acid-wash jeans are an abomination.”

“I love acid-wash.”

“Of course you do.” Kurt’s eyes flick to Burt’s ever-present baseball cap. “You’re in dire need of a makeover, too.”

Burt chuckles. “Part of being in a family is learning to love people for who they are.”

“But family members must also hold each other accountable for their fashion sins.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never read that in the scriptures.”

Kurt winked and dug his fork back into his dinner. “Read between the lines, Dad.”

* * *

Burt and Kurt’s usual format for family home evening is dinner, then scripture lesson, then board games or watching a movie. If Aunt Mildred comes over, they break out Kurt’s Yamaha keyboard for some hymns. Aunt Mildred loves hymns, even when she’s three sheets to the wind.

But the first time Carole and Finn come over for family home evening, Burt tries to skip the scripture lesson altogether. He pushes his chair back from the table and says, “Anyone for Parcheesi?”

“Dad, what about the scripture lesson?”

Burt gives Kurt The Look—the one that means Kurt should shut his trap if he knows what’s good for him.

Kurt ignores it. “We always do the scripture lesson right after dinner.”

Carole looks back and forth between Kurt and Burt, like she’s trying to decide whose side to take.

“We’ll do it after they leave,” Burt says. “It’s not polite to foist our beliefs on other people.”

Carole puts her hand over Burt’s. “It wouldn’t be foisting, Burt. Finn and I don’t want to change the way you and Kurt do things. Family traditions are important. Right, Finn?”

“What?” Finn swallows the half-piece of quiche he just stuffed into his mouth and looks up. “I mean, yeah, sure. Whatever you just said, Mom.”

If Kurt wasn’t sure already, he’s certain now that Carole is going to be a great stepmom.

Finn spends most of the scripture-discussion time playing Angry Birds on his phone, but Carole pays attention, so that’s a start. The next few times they come over, Kurt adjusts the lessons to focus on the more action-packed scriptures—stuff like the prophet Nephi beheading the evil Laban, Samuel the Lamanite deflecting arrows, and Abinadi chopping off the arms of bandits. Finn’s ears perk up whenever blood gets mentioned, but he still has a hard time understanding the biblical language. Kurt downloads the children’s illustrated Book of Mormon stories for Finn and he gets really into it then, although it’s hard to tell if he sees beyond the blood and gore to the spiritual message beneath.

Finn’s obtuseness should cure Kurt of his desire once and for all, but it doesn’t. It strikes Kurt as adorable and innocent, and arouses his deepest caretaking instincts. Who’s going to protect Finn from the evils of the world if not Kurt? Carole does her best, but there’s only so much a parent can do at this age. She wasn’t able to protect Finn from Quinn. And even though Rachel has higher moral standards than Quinn, she also has two gay dads. How can someone who lives in a home where sin is embraced as a lifestyle possibly be a good influence?

When Finn says something especially dense over dinner or during scripture lessons, Kurt often finds himself reaching out and fondly rubbing Finn’s shoulder without even meaning to. It’s like the guy's’ skin is magnetic or something. Kurt just wants to wrap him in his arms and shelter him from people who would take advantage of his foolishness.

Finn’s foolishness, Kurt realizes, is a beautiful thing. Haven’t the prophets always warned against excessive reliance on worldly wisdom? He thinks about the passage from Alma that he shared once with Mercedes: “Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise.” Maybe Finn’s foolishness is the path to a deeper sort of wisdom than Kurt could ever know, with his constant questioning and analyzing of everything. Maybe the point of Kurt’s friendship with Finn is to learn to love foolishness.

The only problem is that Kurt doesn’t just love Finn’s foolishness. He loves Finn, and not in a way that’s strictly brotherly. Brothers don’t long to scoot closer to each other on the couch. Their hearts don’t race at the other’s touch. They don’t have wet dreams about kissing each other’s foreheads and cheeks.

“Heavenly Father, thank you for bringing Carole into my father’s life, and for bringing Finn into mine. Please teach me to see him as a brother, the way I should. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, and he needs an older brother to watch out for him and take care of him. Please help me stop wanting the things I want, and dreaming the things I dream, and replace my desires with yours. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen. “

Kurt prays a variation on this every morning and night when he’s on his knees. He prays it silently to himself when he’s working at his dad’s shop and images of Finn flit unbidden into his mind. He prays it when he wakes up in the middle of the night with wet sheets.

He prays and prays and prays, and nothing changes. If anything, the longing becomes stronger, the dreams more vivid. They move from chaste kisses to open-mouthed ones, to rolling around naked together in the backyard hammock. Kurt can barely look himself in the mornings after these dreams. He avoids eye contact with his reflection, focusing instead on his toothbrush moving over his teeth, or his fingers rubbing moisturizer into his skin. He watches the movements coldly, disinterestedly, as if they aren’t his own.

* * *

Carole doesn't go to church every week. But she wishes she could. There’s a sense of quiet and calm in the sanctuary that she doesn’t get in many other places. It’s nothing like the raucous services of the evangelical church she went to in high school. The hymns are sung in hushed, reverent tones, and the sermons are generally respectable and sedate. They use humility and quiet logic to coax people toward salvation, not pretty words and come-to-Jesus cadences.

The female missionaries give her their phone number one week after the service. “Just in case you’d like to learn a little more about our church,” they say. “No pressure.”

Burt squeezes her hand as they walk away. “Don’t feel like you have to meet with them for my sake. I’m not looking to convert you.”

When she calls them the next day, it’s not for Burt’s sake. It’s because she’s finally found a church that feels like home.

The visits from the missionaries become Carole’s little secret. She asks them to only visit her during the day, when Finn is at his summer job cleaning pools with Puck. She doesn’t mention them to Burt, either. It feels too sacred for sharing just yet.

Admittedly, a lot of the theology is startling. The sister missionaries mention something about God having a physical body. But when Carole thinks about it, that’s what all churches teach, isn’t it? Jesus is God in human form. The Mormons are just more straightforward.

On the whole, what the missionaries teach her makes a lot more sense than the stuff regular Christians believe. “What about hell?” she asks on their second visit, when they’re explaining how families can be reunited in heaven. She wants to see if they say the same thing that Kurt did. “The last church I went to, they believed that’s where almost everyone ends up.”

“We don’t believe that,” says Sister Atu. “The Lord wouldn’t punish people for eternity for mistakes we make in time. Even after we die, we get lots of opportunities to repent and accept salvation. And if you still don’t accept the Gospel, you just go to the telestial kingdom. The prophet Joseph Smith compared the glory of the telestial kingdom to the glory of the stars. Here,” she said, handing Carole her book of scriptures. “Why don’t you read the part I have highlighted there?”

Carole reads, “‘And thus we saw, in the heavenly vision, the glory of the telestial, which surpasses all understanding; and no man knows it except him to whom God has revealed it.’”

“Now, would you put that in your own words?” asks the other missionary, Sister Beauhart.

“Well, if the glory of the telestial kingdom is more than we can understand, it must be better than earth, right?”

Both sisters nod.

“My husband died of a drug overdose. He was a junkie. Is there room in your heaven for him?”

“Of course.” Sister Atu puts her hand on the back of Carole’s. “Heavenly Father loves him. He wants to bring all his children home.”

Carole didn’t cry when Kurt basically told her the same thing. She hasn’t cried about Christopher in years.

But Kurt made those reassurances without knowing how far Christopher had fallen. These sisters do.

Carole cries now.

* * *

The last Sunday before school starts up again is a fast and testimony meeting, and Finn comes along to church for the first time. He goes with Kurt go to Priests’ Quorum before the service while Carole goes to Relief Society and Burt goes to Elders’ Quorum. Finn’s eyes looks around the room of 16- and 17-year-old boys in utter confusion. “Where are the priests?”

“ _We’re_ the priests,” Kurt says.

“But you’re not wearing a funny hat. Or one of those collars.”

“That’s not the true priesthood. Priesthood is the power and authority that God gives to man to act in all things necessary for the salvation of God’s children. The Aaronic Priesthood, which is what I have, was restored to the Prophet Joseph Smith in 1829.”

Finn’s eyes glaze over.

Kurt tries again. “We’re not those kinds of priests. We bless the sacrament and can baptize people. But it’s not our full-time job.”

“Huh. Okay.” Finn shrugs and pulls a Snickers out of his pocket.

“Can you not eat that right now?” Kurt whispers in a way that manages to be like yelling even though it’s super quiet. He’s spent years perfecting the angry whisper. He figures it will come in handy with his kids someday.

Several heads turn. Kurt gives an embarrassed wave to the other boys.

“Hey everyone. This is my friend Finn. He’s an investigator.”

The wave. Finn waves back. He tears open the Snickers wrapper. Kurt elbows him in the ribs.

“I’m hungry,” says Finn.

“We all are. It’s fast and testimony Sunday. No one here has eaten since yesterday.”

“Oh. Seriously?”

“Yeah, we skip two meals and give the money we save to the poor.”

“Oh.” Finn looks as his Snickers bar guiltily. “Should I throw this away, then?”

“I don’t know. It’s up to you. Just don’t put it back in your pocket now that it’s open. The chocolate will ruin your clothes.”

Finn excuses himself from the room and comes back after the meeting’s started. He sits down next to Kurt, chocolate staining the corners of his mouth. Kurt would be irritated if it wasn’t so adorable.

“You missed a spot,” Kurt mouths, rubbing the corner of his own mouth.

Finn darts his tongue out to catch the mess.

Kurt blushes and turns away.

* * *

Kurt gave his first testimony when he was four years old. He still has vague memories of the excitement he felt when his mother lifted him up to the microphone and he said, “I know my Heavenly Parents love me, and they love you, too, and families can be together forever. I say this in Jesus’ name, amen.” But he’s not sure how much of it is his real memory, and how much he’s reconstructed from hearing the story over and over from his parents and Aunt Mildred.

What he does remember is how much he meant it. Back in those days, God’s love felt so tangible to him. He had a simple and unshakable faith in it.

And then his mother died. He cried all night after the funeral, and the only one there to hold him was his dad. Heavenly Father could have appeared to him the way he had to Joseph Smith, and Heavenly Mother could have, too. When his dad thought Kurt was asleep and left the room, Kurt opened his eyes and waited for them to appear—and if not them, maybe Jesus, or Moroni, or Joseph Smith with his pretty light-brown hair and eyes as blue as the heavens.

But none of them came. They left him all alone in the dark.

He needed his Heavenly Parents’ love more than ever, but it no longer seemed to be there. Kurt knew this was a trick of the devil, that Satan was trying to keep him from feeling God’s love. So Kurt spent every morning and evening counting the proofs that God loved him: the flowers on the walk to school; the sunlight and the rain; his dad still being alive; and an aunt who was usually fun to be with, even if she wasn’t a good Mormon.

The month after his mother’s death, he stood up in church and said, “I know my Heavenly Father has a plan for me. I know he has work for my mother to do in the spirit world, and he has work for me to do down here. I know if I do that work, I will feel the love of my Heavenly Parents as much as I felt my mom’s love. I know that if we all have faith and endure to the end, my family will be together again after the Resurrection.”

Kurt still tries to give his testimony at least once every few months, even when he’s not really feeling it. By acting faithful, you can become faithful through the grace of Jesus Christ.

On this fast and testimony Sunday, Kurt stands up with one of his shortest testimonies ever, because it’s hard to talk with Finn’s brown eyes on him. “I’ve been reminded a lot this summer about what the prophet Helaman says in Alma: ‘By small and simple things are great things brought to pass.’ If you’ve ever seen the way I dress outside of sacrament meeting, you know that my tastes don’t run toward the simple. But these words are helping me refocus on what’s really important. To me, they testify to the truth of the Book of Mormon, the prophet Joseph Smith, and the restoration of the gospel. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

When he sits back down, Carole smiles and rubs him on the back.

He wishes it was Finn’s hand there.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he were dead. Literally.

* * *

He wishes he was dead again on the first day of school, when Karofsky shoves him into his locker with a loud, “Queer!”

Kurt slides to the ground. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to dredge up a comeback.

There’s no point. David Karofsky is right.

But no. He can’t be. He remembers the words of Elder Packer spoken at the last general conference: “Some suppose that they were preset and cannot overcome what they feel are inborn tendencies toward the impure and the unnatural. Not so. Why would our Heavenly Father do that to anyone?”

Kurt reaches behind himself to make sure his sweater hasn’t snagged on the locker behind him. Then he stands up and brushes himself off.

Another snippet from Elder Packer’s talk pops into his head: _Men are, that they might have joy._ It’s a quote from the Book of Mormon, one that Kurt has had memorized for years.

If being queer makes Kurt feel like dying, then clearly he’s doing things wrong. He needs to not be queer.

As long as he can remember, he’s known that the best way to gain a testimony of the church is to act as if it were true. Maybe that’s the best way to become straight, too: act like you are.

He’s tried it a little, by going on dates with Mercedes and Rachel and holding their hands. But he’s never kissed a girl, or touched their boobs.

Of course, he’s not really supposed to touch boobs—but how is he supposed to develop right feelings toward girls if he doesn't even know what their boobs feel like? Missionaries don’t ask people to get baptized without giving them a taste of the Book of Mormon first. Maybe Kurt needs a taste of femininity—more than handholding, which hardly even counts because he still sometimes holds hands with his _dad_.

All the boys at school go on about boobs constantly, like they're the keys to heaven or something. Maybe if Kurt got the chance to squeeze one, his natural desires would be awakened.

He thinks about Mercedes. He’s almost one-hundred percent sure she’d kiss him if he asked. But then she’d probably think they were going steady, and he’d have to break her heart all over again, and she might break the window of his car, so—No on Mercedes. There’s no way she’d let him touch her boobs, anyway.

Rachel’s out of the picture, because she’s going steady with Finn, despite Kurt warning them both about the perils of teen love.

Santana’s terrifying.

Quinn would laugh at him.

Tina’s swooning over Mike.

Kurt decides to ask Brittany out.

He gets his chance a few days later when he finds her alone at her locker, talking to a picture of a pink My Little Pony on the inside of its metal door.

“Brittany, I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Of course you are. I was talking to Pinkie Pie.”

“Um. Sorry?”

“Just let me finish giving her my report and then I can talk to you.”

Kurt stands there while Brittany finishes telling Pinkie Pie something about Britney Spears. Then she closes the locker and looks at him. “What is it? Is this about you being a unicorn? Because I can’t really help you with that. I’m a bicorn.”

“I was wondering if you’d go out. On a date. With me.”

She tilts her head, studying him like a rare piece of art. "Finn told me you’re a priest. Priests aren't supposed to date girls. Also, you’re a unicorn."

Kurt resists the temptation to roll his eyes. That's not really an appropriate expression when you're trying to get a girl to go out with you. Besides, foolishness is wisdom and all that. If Kurt can fawn over Finn’s ignorance, surely he can learn to find Brittany’s attractive. "Those are Catholic priests," he says. "In my church, priests can date girls. Actually, we're kind of required to. It's one of our rules." He doesn’t address her unicorn statement, because he has no idea what she’s talking about, and he’s afraid to find out.

"Wait," she says, her face suddenly pale with concern. "You mean, God gets mad at you if you don't date?"

"More like … incredibly disappointed. If you break enough of God's rules, he stops talking to you."

"Wow. Well, I wouldn't want to get between you and God." She breaks out into a small smile that is either shy or an attempt at seductive—Kurt's not sure—and rests her index finger on his chest. "Plus, you're the only boy at McKinley I haven't made out with, so it would mean a lot to me to finally get the chance." Her index finger starts moving then, dragging slowly down his shirt toward the waist of his jeans.

He's probably supposed to feel something other than abject terror.

Well, he'll have plenty of chances to work on that now.

* * *

He takes Brittany out for ice cream. She orders bubblegum ice cream, which turns her lips blue. She pockets the gumballs in her cheek as she eats, and the collection keeps getting bigger and bigger as she works through the cone. She looks like a human chipmunk.

“Do you want me to get you a cup so you can spit the gumballs out?” Kurt says. He’s worried she’s going to choke on the gumballs, but he doesn’t say so because sometimes speaking a thing makes it come true.

“No,” she says. “Then I’d miss out on the flavor.”

“You could still chew on the gum. Just take it out of the cup after you’re done eating the ice cream.”

She takes a lick from her cone and pockets another gumball into her cheek. “Chew on spit-out gum? That’s kind of gross.”

He can’t really argue with that.

They drive to his house. He’s not allowed to bring girls home when his dad’s not around, but where else would they make out? He doesn’t want to use the car. Someone might see them. Kurt feels like he’s going to be sick to his stomach, but he tells himself it’s just nerves and double-fudge sundae that makes him feel that way, and not because the idea of locking lips with Brittany kind of grosses him out.

He pops a piece of Wrigley’s to freshen his breath as they approach his house. He offers one to her and she answers with a garbled, “I don’t think that will fit,” then blows a bubble as big as her head.

* * *

Making out with Brittany is … weird. For the first five minutes of it he just wants to crawl out of his skin and hide somewhere no one can find him—in the hollow of a tree, or under the bleachers of the school stadium, or inside the old dresser wooden dresser that still smells like his mother’s perfume. Brittany’s too close. Her breath is hot against his mouth in a way that makes him feel sickly, and the fact that she’s lying on top of him doesn’t help him at all. He feels trapped.

But he’s been in uncomfortable situations before, and survived them. So he does what he’s done before: he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and pretends he isn’t there. It helps that it’s dark in his basement bedroom, lit only by a few candles on the coffee table. He thinks about his homework, and he wonders what Finn’s doing right now, and if he actually enjoys making out with Rachel or if it’s all just a show. He goes over what’s in the refrigerator right now and tries to figure out how many different recipes he could make with eight eggs, a half-gallon of milk, three chicken breasts, a head of cauliflower, and a pound of carrots.

Brittany grinds down against his penis.

“Ow!” squeals Kurt.

“Sorry,” Brittany says sheepishly. “Usually boys are harder than this when I make out with them. Did I pinch you?”

“Kind of. Yes. It can’t take that kind of friction when it’s—” He doesn’t finish. He shouldn’t be talking about his flaccid penis with a girl.

“I could suck on it, if you want it to get hard,” she says.

“Um, no. Please. No.” Kurt takes a deep breath. “I want to be respectful, Brittany. I like you as a person, not just for your body.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure?”

Kurt wonders if she’s asking about the blow job, or asking if he actually likes her. He feels suddenly guilty because he has no idea if he actually likes her. He’s never given her much thought, really. She’s just part of the scenery of his life. “I think we should stop, Brittany.”

“I haven’t even stuck my tongue in your mouth yet. That’s the best part.”

He crooks an eyebrow at her. Just regular kissing is weird enough. He can’t imagine French kissing is any better. “Are you sure?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course I’m sure. I’d remember if I had my tongue in your mouth, Kurt. Just because I’m not smart doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

If communicating with girls is always this difficult, Kurt never wants to get married. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, are you sure about French kissing? That’s something you want to do?”

“Oh, totally. You have such a pretty mouth, Kurt, and you don’t taste like other boys.”

“What do other boys taste like?” For the first time this afternoon, Kurt feels a stirring in his crotch.

“Doritos and hamburgers. Sometimes my armpits.” She smiles. “Kissing my armpits is a really big turn-on for me.”

Kurt has a moment of wistful jealousy. He has no idea what’s a turn-on for him. How can he, when he’s supposed to push all lustful thoughts away before he can picture them, when his only orgasms have been in his sleep? “Do you masturbate, Brittany?” he says, and then realizes he’s said it. His face feels red as a fire hydrant. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

“Why? Do you want to watch me?”

Kurt squirms out from underneath her until they’re both upright, side by side on his futon. “No. _No._ I just—I don’t know why I asked that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’d totally watch you.”

Kurt can’t look at her. He stares at the candles he set on the coffee table for their make-out session. “We’re keeping our clothes on, Brittany.”

“Okay. But can we French kiss? Your lips take like chocolate and I want to see if your mouth does, too.”

Kurt takes a deep breath. “Sure. OK.” He closes his eyes and turns toward her, his mouth half-open. When she slides her tongue in, it feels like a slug trailing into his mouth.

He shudders.

“You okay, Kurt?”

He doesn’t open his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She slides her tongue back in. He tries to think of it not as a slug, but as a fine escargot. He goes over his grocery list, wonders if the Alexander McQueen sweater he’s been watching on ebay has been priced out of his range yet.

She takes his hand and puts it on her boob.

He feels nothing.

The front door opens.

“Dang it,” he says, pushing Brittany off of him. “My dad’s home early. Look presentable.”

“You mean, like a present?”

“No, I mean—” He flattens down her hair with the palms of his hands. “Actually, you don’t look very make-out disheveled. What about me?”

“Your mouth looks like Pinkie Pie.”

Kurt flips on the ceiling light and runs to his mirror. It’s true. His hair is still neat, his clothes neatly in place. But his mouth looks like it’s been ravished.

“Hey, Kurt, things were slow at the garage this afternoon so I thought—” Burt Hummel stops halfway down the stairs. He looks at Kurt, then Brittany. “Who’s this?”

“Brittany,” Kurt says with as much confidence as he can muster. “From the glee club. You’ve seen her at our shows.”

* * *

Burt Hummel weighs the pros and cons of his possible responses. He finally settles on introducing himself to Brittany and shaking her hand. It’s clear they’ve been kissing; Kurt’s lips are as red as strawberries. But their clothes and hair don’t look too messed up, so it probably hasn’t gotten any farther than that.

In a way, Burt’s relieved. Kurt’s never been a stereotypical boy, and Burt’s often wondered if he’d turn out not to be interested in girls at all. Elizabeth did, too. Before she died, they had long talks about what Burt should do if it turned out to be true. But he’s never pushed the subject with Kurt. He’s ashamed of how he stereotyped boys like Kurt when he was in high school, and asking Kurt—wouldn’t that be stereotyping, too?

All those worries are moot now. Kurt obviously likes girls. Maybe a little too much for his own good.

Left to his own devices, Burt wouldn’t really care about Kurt breaking this particular rule. Kissing and making out were a natural part of his own teenage years. The church’s guidelines on dating have always seemed too strict to him. If he’d followed them himself, he might never have married Kurt’s mother.

But Kurt’s not him. The kid thrives on structure. He loves order so much he’ll create it for himself if no one else does. Last time Burt checked, Kurt was still organizing his sock drawer by color and fabric weight. Talk about anal. His number one beef with glee club is that it’s a chaotic mess. He never complains about school rules; he complains that no one enforces them.

Burt knows Kurt. He knows his kid depends on rules to survive. And if Kurt’s chosen the church’s rules as the ones he wants to live by, he needs a father who will enforce them. “Kurt, why don’t you take Brittany home now. I’ll be waiting to talk to you when you get back.”

* * *

Kurt trudges to the kitchen on his return. “I know you’re mad at me.” He sits in the chair across from his dad and stares at the napkin dispenser.

“I’m not mad, Kurt. I’m disappointed. You’ve told me a million times that you’re going to follow the church’s guidelines on dating, and then I find you making out with a girl, alone in your bedroom, when you think I’m not home. If you set a certain standard for yourself, it’s important to stick to it. I don’t want you to lose respect for yourself.”

“I know what I did was wrong. I’m not going to do it again. I just—”

“What?”

“I was just … curious. All the guys at school go on and on about making out with girls, and I just thought—"

“You wanted to fit in?”

“Sort of.” _I want to fit in with Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I want to like girls._

“Do you love this girl, Kurt?”

 _I wish I could._ “No. She’s nice. But—no.”

“Do you know why the church teaches not to have sex outside of marriage?”

Kurt’s ears burn. “I wasn’t going to have sex with her, Dad.”

“Maybe not today. But making out in your bedroom when nobody’s home—you know where that can eventually lead.” Burt folds his arms across his chest. “Look, Kurt. When you're intimate with somebody in that way, you're never gonna be more vulnerable. It’s doing something to you—to your heart, to your self-esteem. That’s why we talk about waiting until marriage. Because putting your heart in someone else’s hands like that, Kurt—that’s heavy stuff.”

“Okay. So I won’t have sex. Ever.” After his afternoon with Brittany, Kurt’s pretty sure that’s the only option for him, anyway.

“That’s _not_ what I’m saying. When you're married, when you find that person you want to spend your life with, it’s important to have sex. It helps build a connection. But don't throw yourself around like you don't matter. 'Cause you matter, Kurt. You’re a child of God, and so is your future wife. So save yourself until you’re ready to give yourself to someone fully.” Burt scratches his forehead under his cap. “And in the meantime, just jerk off if you get horny. Don’t bring some girl into it.”

Kurt jerks back in his chair. “Dad!”

“What?”

“Masturbation is against the law of chastity.”

Burt looks at Kurt like he’s lost his mind. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is. How can you not know that? You’ve been a member of the church for twenty years. The apostles preach against it at every single general conference. _”_

Burt’s brows furrow. “They’re talking about looking at nudie magazines, Kurt. Forbidding people to masturbate at all would be crazy.”

“Then why does the bishop ask me if I masturbate every time I have a personal priesthood interview?”

“He _what_?”Burt stands up so fast his chair falls with a _smack!_ to the floor. His face is purple. He looks about ready to burst a blood vessel. “He has no business talking to you like that. What else does he ask you?”

Kurt’s flabbergasted. “Of _course_ it’s the bishop’s business to ask me that. It’s his job to make sure I live a life worthy of my callings. Doesn’t he ask you?”

“If he asked me that I would punch him in the face. In fact, I have a mind to do that right now.” Burt heads toward the front door, but Kurt beats him to it.

He stands in his father’s way, back flat against the door, hand tight on the doorknob. “You’re not serious, are you?”

Burt flexes his fist and punches it into his own empty hand. “Yeah, I am. But I’ll rethink it if you’d rather I have a calm, adult talk with him.”

“Please, Dad, yes. The latter option.” Kurt takes a deep breath as his dad turns away from the door and heads back to the kitchen. He stops next to the phone, looks at the church contact list posted on the bulletin board, and starts dialing. “You’re calling him right now?”

“Hell yes I am.”

Kurt can count on one hand the number of times he’s heard his father swear. He adds this to the tally.

* * *

It turns out Kurt was right about masturbation and the law of chastity. The bishop refers Burt to Prophet Kimball’s [_Miracle of Forgiveness_](https://archive.org/stream/MiracleOfForgiveness/MoF_djvu.txt), Elder Packer’s conference talk “[To Young Men Only](https://www.lds.org/manual/to-young-men-only/to-young-men-only?lang=eng),” and to [chapter five](https://www.lds.org/manual/a-parents-guide/chapter-5-teaching-adolescents-from-twelve-to-eighteen-years?lang=eng) of the church’s parenting manual.

Burt doesn’t give a flying flip. “Yeah, and they also say not to get tattoos. I know plenty of good guys who’ve got tattoos, and every one of those guys knows better than to go around asking minors if they jerk off. No one’s _ever_ asked me that question as long as I’ve been in this church, and I’m an adult. You’ve asked me if I follow the law of chastity, and that’s what all my previous bishops have asked me, and no one’s ever pried into the details. I wonder why that is. Maybe because I’m an adult and I know what’s inappropriate when I hear it?”

The bishop tells Burt to pray about it and not to take the sacrament for a month. Burt slams down the phone with a “Fuck you.”

* * *

On the one hand, Kurt is mortified by MasturGate, as he calls it in his head. On the other hand, he wonders what other crazy things his dad would go to bat for him over. If his dad thinks the church’s teachings on masturbation are poppycock, what does he think of its teachings on homosexuality?

Of course, Kurt’s not living for his dad’s approval. He’s living for Heavenly Father’s approval. Ultimately, it’s the Plan of Salvation that matters. And the Plan of Salvation has no room for homosexuals.

If Kurt wants to ever see his mother again, he’s got to follow the plan: go on a mission, get married in the temple, raise children, and endure to the end, just like she did. She’s certainly bound for the celestial kingdom, and he wants to end up there, too. Otherwise, he’ll end up in one of the lower tiers of heaven where you don’t get to see your family.

MasturGate blows over soon enough, anyway. The bishop gets a job transfer and leaves the ward. Burt Hummel has a calmer conversation about the whole sex thing with the new bishop, and gets his promise that he won’t ask Kurt for details about his sex life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Elder Packer quote is taken from his talk given at the October 2010 LDS general conference, a semiannual event featuring multiple sermons by church leaders that are broadcast around the world. I used text from the speech as it was given at the conference. It was [revised](http://www.sltrib.com/sltrib/home/50440474-76/packer-church-speech-lds.html.csp) before being posted to the church’s website. You can read the revised version and watch the original video [here](https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2010/10/cleansing-the-inner-vessel?lang=eng). And yes, I have Kurt remembering the quote before Elder Packer actually said it, but hey, this is Glee. It doesn’t have to be a linear narrative.
> 
> Other LDS publications mentioned in this chapter are Spencer Kimball’s [Miracle of Forgiveness](https://archive.org/stream/MiracleOfForgiveness/MoF_djvu.txt), Boyd Packer’s “[To Young Men Only](https://www.lds.org/manual/to-young-men-only/to-young-men-only?lang=eng),” and [chapter five](https://www.lds.org/manual/a-parents-guide/chapter-5-teaching-adolescents-from-twelve-to-eighteen-years?lang=eng) of the church’s parenting manual, A Parent’s Guide.


	7. The Power of Prayer (Fall 2010)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn sees Jesus in a sandwich. Kurt needs a real miracle to help his hospitalized dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parallels Episode 2.03 "Grilled Cheesus."
> 
> Chapter notes: “Oh My Father” was written by Eliza R. Snow, the second general president of the Relief Society (a Mormon women’s organization) and a plural wife of church founder Joseph Smith. You can find the full lyrics in the [LDS hymnal](https://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/o-my-father?lang=eng). [Here’s](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3teh7YsIbk) a young man singing it on YouTube.

 

The week after MasturGate blows over, Finn sits down next to Kurt in glee club and drops a bomb on him: “Can you teach me the right way to pray?”

Kurt almost chokes on his own spit. “Um, sure. Right now?”

Finn nods. “Yeah. I should have asked you earlier. I saw Jesus in my grilled cheese sandwich last night and I asked him to let our football team win our next game, but I’m not sure it will work because I didn’t use the _thee_ s and _thou_ s the way you and your dad do when you pray.”

“You saw Jesus? In your grilled cheese sandwich?” Kurt’s pretty sure that’s impossible. Jesus still appears to prophets and apostles, and maybe occasionally to other worthy people who really need him, but the scriptures teach that he always shows up in the flesh, not as some vague vision. Besides, Finn slept with Santana. There’s no way he’s worthy to see the resurrected Christ.

“Yeah, in the burn marks. They looked just like one of the pictures in the illustrated Bible you gave me.”

That makes more sense. It wasn’t an appearance of Christ himself, but a sign. Signs could come to anyone, even grave sinners. And even if it wasn’t a direct sign, the fact that Finn interpreted the marks as being Jesus meant he was finally ready to learn about the gospel.

Kurt’s heart fluttered. Maybe they really would end up in the celestial kingdom together when this was all over. “Okay, well first, you’re not supposed to pray to Jesus. You pray to Heavenly Father in Jesus’ name.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s the difference between a prayer that Heavenly Father hears and one that he doesn’t.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“Just start with _Dear Heavenly Father,_ say what you’re thankful for, and tell God what you want help with in your life. Then close with _I says these things in the name of Jesus Christ._ You want to give it a try now?”

Finn scrunches up his eyebrows. “I didn’t bring my grilled Cheesus with me. Maybe you could talk me through it on the phone when I get home?”

“Wait. Have you been praying to your sandwich?”

“Of course.”

“You need to stop that. God isn’t in your sandwich.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. God has a human body. He doesn’t look like bread and melted cheese.”

Finn slumps forward in defeat. “Man, this religion stuff is so confusing.”

“Don’t worry, Finn. I’ll help you through it.” Kurt reaches out and rubs Finn’s back, ignoring the spark of electricity that runs up his arm.

* * *

Finn’s team wins the football game. The new quarterback Sam gets most of the glory, but that’s okay. Because once people learn it was Finn’s prayers that made the difference, they’ll start thinking of him as a leader again, and Coach Beiste will have to put him back in his rightful place. Also, Karofsky and Azimio will have to stop ganging up on him so much.

He stands up in front of the entire glee club and asks everyone to join him in paying tribute to Jesus Christ.

Kurt swoons.

Rachel balks.

Puck gets pissed and immediately launches into a cover of Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young.”

“If I have to listen to you singing about promiscuity, you can listen to me singing about God,” Kurt says when Puck is done.

“Maybe you just need to get laid, you closeted homo,” Puck snaps back.

“Puck! Language!” says Mr. Schuester. “Glee club is a safe space for everyone.”

Puck rolls his eyes. “Unless you’re a Jew.”

Mr. Schuester sighs. “Guys, maybe our song selections don’t have to be about Jesus. We could do songs about spirituality.”

Kurt shoots his hand up. “I vote in favor.”

All the other kids do, too, except for Puck and Santana. Rachel’s hand is only half-raised, but it counts all the same.

“Kurt,” Finn says after glee club. “I need to talk to you about this Jesus thing.”

“Yes?”

“Well, there’s something I don’t get. You told me there’s a right way to pray, but that’s not how I prayed when I asked to win the football game. Grilled Cheesus answered my prayer. It must be okay to pray to it.”

“That’s a coincidence, Finn. God’s not a magic genie who gives you three wishes and _poof.”_

“How many wishes do I get, then?”

“Oh, Finn.” Kurt reaches out and rubs Finn’s shoulder. Kurt’s been doing that a lot lately, and Finn’s not sure how he feels about it. It feels somehow different than when other guys touch him. When Puck pats him on the shoulder, it’s about half as hard as a punch. Finn sometimes feels like he’s getting the Heimlich. But Kurt’s touch isn’t rough at all. It’s almost as gentle Rachel’s.

Is this the way brothers touch? Finn has no idea. He’s never had a brother before. And Kurt isn’t technically his brother, though it looks like they’re headed that way.

Still, it feels weird, and Finn kind of wants to punch Kurt. He’s not even sure why.

Finn goes home and eats the Grilled Cheesus, because Kurt told him to. He said God would get angry if Finn kept praying to it, and it wouldn’t be any use to piss the Lord off now that he’s finally on His good side.

After he eats it, he gets down on his knees and prays the way Kurt told him to: “Dear Heavenly Father, thanks for that awesome grilled cheese sandwich. It tasted good even though it was cold. Also, Kurt said I should thank you for using small and simple things to lead me to you. I think he means the sandwich. So thanks. And thanks for letting us win the football game. That was awesome.”

Finn was done with his thank yous, so now he could ask for what he wanted help with. “Dating Rachel is great, but she’s kind of a prude and it’s driving me crazy. Her boobs aren’t that great, but they’re still girl boobs and I’d really like to touch them. So, Heavenly Father, considering that I’ve dedicated a whole week of my musical life to you, I hope you can see it in your heart to answer my prayer. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

* * *

It’s a Saturday afternoon. Finn is halfway across Ohio at a football game. Carole sits out on the back deck with a Book of Mormon and a King James Bible, reading her homework assignment from the missionaries.

She’s no longer hiding her meetings with the missionaries or her scripture studies from Finn. He’s been to enough family home evenings that she’s no longer worried about it freaking him out. He hasn’t shown any interest in studying the scriptures with her, but that’s okay; he’s headed for heaven in the long run, no matter what he believes.

After months of study, she’s finally getting used to the language of the scriptures. She no longer trips over the _thee_ s and _thou_ s _, hath_ s _and doest_ s. Her brain has become used to the rhythms. Instead of struggling against them, she finds them comforting. It reminds her of the long summer evenings she used to spend on her grandparents’ front porch, listening to her grandmother tell Slavic fairy tales in a patois of Russian and English. Carole didn’t understand half of it, but that didn’t matter. The sounds were beautiful, connecting Carole to something primordial and deep, something that reached back to the source of humanity itself.

Her assignment is the story of Philip and the Ethiopian in Acts. The apostle Philip runs into an Ethiopian eunuch who’s on a search for spiritual truth. When Philip tells him the Gospel, the Ethiopian’s response is immediate:

 

 

> “See, here is water; what doth hinder me to be baptized?”
> 
> And Philip said, “If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest” … and they went down both into the water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he baptized him.

Carole stares at the book, as startled as if she’d just been dunked into a river herself. Here she’s been, dipping her toes in the water for months, afraid to step in any further even though, deep in her heart, she knows that everything the missionaries have told her is true. She knows it’s true because it _rings_ true: a God who will never abandon his children, who speaks with them today as clearly as he did thousands of years ago, who preserves family bonds even after death.

She’s known it’s true and done nothing about it. The Ethiopian heard a few words about Jesus and jumped right into the water.

But there’s still one thing that keeps her from going in. At her next lesson, she asks the sisters, “Do you think my parents were wrong to have me baptized as a baby?”

“I think they did what they thought was right,” says Sister Beauhart, tucking her red hair behind her ear. “They wanted their daughter to grow up with a knowledge of Christ. That’s a wonderful thing.”

“Then why do I need to get baptized again?”

“Because the Lord commanded us to be baptized by someone holding the proper priesthood authority.”

Carole looks down at the passage in Doctrine & Covenants they’ve been reading. If these are indeed scriptures, it’s true—that’s exactly what they say. But she still has a bad taste in her mouth from the hot tub baptism almost two decades ago.

“Carole,” says Sister Atu, who’s sitting in the old recliner that Finn treats like a shrine to his dead father. Finn would have a fit if he saw that, but truth be told, Christopher hardly ever sat in it—and even if he had, his sober self was gentleman enough to share. “Are you concerned that getting baptized would mean you were rejecting the gift your parents gave you?”

Carole blinks back tears. Damn, she cries so much in front of these sisters. She’s not a woman who lives with her emotions close to the surface, but they always come right out in these discussions. “Mostly my grandparents, to be honest. The Russian Orthodox church was so important to them. My mom spoke English. She could get along anywhere. But my babushka—”

Sister Atu comes over and sits down next to Carole, one arm over around her shoulder. “Joining the church doesn’t mean you’re disrespecting your heritage. You’re building on the foundation your parents and grandparents gave you. They gave you as much truth as they knew. And just think—you can give back to them now. When you’re a member, you can go to the temple and receive baptism on behalf of your grandparents. You can share the gospel with them the way they shared what they understood of it with you.”

The three women pray together on their knees, hands folded across their chests. By the time they’re done, Carole knows what she has to do: Whether Burt Hummel stays in her life or not, she wants to be a Saint. She’s going to get baptized.

Even though she’s not doing this _for_ Burt, she can’t wait to tell him. She wonders how surprised he’ll be. She still hasn’t told him she’s been meeting with the missionaries. All he knows is that she comes to church with them and family home evening, and she has her own copy of the scriptures that she keeps on the coffee table.

She resists the urge to call him with the news right away. He’ll call at three o’clock, just like he always does, and she’ll tell him them.

But he doesn’t call. Three o’clock comes and goes, and then three-fifteen, and three-thirty.

He’s never been this late calling before.

She dials the garage.

The phone is answered by George, who manages the shop when Burt’s away. “Carole, I’m so sorry. He had a heart attack. I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t find your phone number.”

She sits down before she can collapse, just like she did when she received the call about Christopher’s body being found. Is this some kind of heavenly joke—give her faith, but take her love away? “Is he—”

“He’s fine. I mean, he’s alive. His sister-in-law is there right now. She called and said he’s critical but stable. He hasn’t woken up yet, as far as I know.”

“Sister-in-law? You mean Mildred?” Carole’s only met the woman twice at family home evenings, but given that Mildred has shown up tipsy both times, she’s sure she doesn’t want the woman in charge of Burt’s medical decisions. Though legally she’s not sure Mildred could, since they’re not blood relatives.

“Yeah, Mildred. I know she’s a bit of a … character, but she’s not usually drunk by this time of day yet, so I wouldn’t worry too much. His brother’s on his way up from Cincinnati right now.”

“Thank God,” Carole murmurs. “And Kurt knows?”

“Yeah. He’s there too.”

That’s the thing that makes Carole sob—thinking of Kurt looking at his unconscious father in a hospital bed. She wasn’t ready to cry for herself, but she can for him.

“Carole, you want my wife to come pick you up and take you to the hospital? I don’t think you should be driving.”

She gathers her breath and wipes her eyes. “No. I have someone who can take me.”

She texts the missionaries as soon as she hangs up.

* * *

Through the whole ordeal, the church ward treats Carole and Finn like family. Two women from the Relief Society show up every couple of days to help with cleaning, and the house is now cleaner than it’s ever been.

Different church members drop off casseroles every night—so many that Finn and his ever-hungry stomach can’t even keep up with them. He’s been meaning to experiment with the George Foreman again to see if he can make another Grilled Cheesus, because Puck pointed out they could make a killing with them on ebay. But with all the food that’s piling up in the fridge, Finn doesn’t really need to make any sandwiches right now. And anyway, Kurt told him it’s dangerous to test God, and he might end up invoking the devil instead. Finn figures that would make the grill explode, which would stress out his mom even more than she already is.

Rachel lets him touch her boobs.

Finn’s on a winning streak now. Maybe he should pray for Burt to wake up from his coma. But his next big football game is tonight, and the coach still hasn’t moved him up to quarterback. Finn really, really wants it. And since asking for more than one wish at a time would only confuse God, Finn decides to ask for that.

Besides, the whole glee club is praying for Burt, so he’s pretty much covered.

“Dear Heavenly Father, I don’t need to tell you how much you rule. You’ve given me everything I’ve asked for and it turns out the Rachel’s boobs are awesome. Anyway, I need another favor so, Heavenly Father, I pray that I make quarterback again. I think I can deliver your message more powerfully if I’m quarterback. Let’s face it, Kurt’s a great guy but he’s not very good at making friends. But I am, and Mr. Schue says I’m a natural leader, so I could totally go out and get you some new followers. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Finn gets quarterback, but only because Sam’s shoulder gets ripped out of its socket halfway through the game.

“Heavenly Father, that was totally _not_ the deal we made. I know your work in mysterious ways, and you even chopped that one guy Laban’s head off so people would believe in you. But Laban was evil, and Sam’s a cool guy. I was going to pray for Burt tonight, but now I’m afraid you’d save him by killing Kurt or something. No offense, but you’ve got a really weird sense of right and wrong, God. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to pray to you anymore. So, yeah. Amen, I guess.”

The only good thing that comes out of being quarterback again—well, besides being quarterback—is that Karofsky and Azimio finally lay off him. Besides throwing the occasional slushy his way, they practically act like he doesn’t even exist.

* * *

Carole offers to take Kurt in. He folds his arms tightly around himself and says, “Thanks, Carole, but I think I need to be in a familiar place right now.” Besides, his uncle is staying with him, and even though he’s not a member and they can’t pray or study scriptures together the way Kurt is used to doing with his dad, he looks a lot like Kurt’s dad and there’s something comforting about seeing those familiar eyes over breakfast every morning.

Kurt feels bad about rejecting Carole, though, so the first Monday that Burt’s in the hospital, he asks Carole and Finn to do family home evening with him there at Burt’s bedside. They spend most of the time together praying.

The kids from glee club come by and offer their own prayers. They don’t pray the right way, but Kurt hopes Heavenly Father will hear them anyway. When Kurt used to get upset with himself for praying the wrong way—for tripping up and using _you_ instead of _thee_ or _thou_ , or _your_ instead of _thy_ —his mom used to tell him that God heard the prayers of all well-meaning people. _Prayer isn’t a magic formula, Kurt. It’s your intention that counts. The most important thing is that you let God see inside your heart._

Kurt had found those words reassuring when he was younger, but they produce mixed feelings in him now. The prophets teach that by following the rules, we can become holy. The rules are the only thing saving him from an unworthy life. If he didn’t have them, he’d sink into depravity. He knows he would, because even as his own dad lies on his deathbed, Kurt can’t help but want to lean against Finn, to feel his body warm and close; for Finn to wrap his arms around him, kiss his forehead and whisper, _It’ll be all right, Kurt. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what._

* * *

Kurt’s not supposed to be so desperately sad. Dying isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s just a shift from one form of life to another. Even if his father’s heart stops, his spirit won’t. It will go to be with Kurt’s mother in spirit paradise, where everything is happy and peaceful. Kurt shouldn’t pray to keep his father in this sinful world.

But that’s exactly what Kurt prays for, every day—if not for his father’s sake, then for his own. “Heavenly Father, please don’t take him just yet. I know I should be happy to give him up. I know if he was in the spirit world, he could share the gospel with Finn’s dad and bring him to Christ. But you already have my mom. Let her do that. Leave my dad with me. I don’t know how to live in this world without him. Nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

He focuses his scripture studies to remind himself that his Heavenly Father will always be there for him even after his earthly father is gone, just like his Heavenly Mother has been. They were his parents in the premortal life, and they’ll be his parents again afterward. That must mean they’re his parents now, too.

Still, it’s hard. He loves Heavenly Mother, but compared to his own mom she’s a vague and amorphous thing. He has no idea what she looks or sounds like, and it’s hard to sense her love at times. Of course, the fact that the prophets forbid praying to her could have something to do with that. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Heavenly Father. But Kurt doubts it. He prays to Heavenly Father every day, and still the man feels so distant he might as well live on the other side of the universe.

The key to eternal happiness is making the right choices today. Kurt fiddles with his CTR ring and wonders about the right thing to do in this moment.

They say that the best way to strengthen your testimony is by giving it. The more you proclaim your belief in the restored gospel, in Joseph Smith as prophet, in Jesus Christ as Heavenly Father’s literal son, the more deeply those beliefs take root in your soul.

Maybe it’s the same thing here. Kurt needs to act like his Heavenly Parents’ love is the only love he needs.

So while half the kids in glee club dedicate their solos to his dad, Kurt doesn’t. He sings the hymn “Oh My Father” and silently dedicates it to his Heavenly Parents:

 _When I leave this frail existence,_  
When I lay this mortal by  
Father, Mother, may I meet you  
In your royal courts on high?  
Then, at length, when I've completed  
All you sent me forth to do,  
_With your mutual approbation_  
_Let me come and dwell with you._

As he sings, Kurt tries to imagine the white-robed gods from his dad’s old edition of _Gospel Principles._ Instead, what he sees Burt and Elizabeth Hummel: his dad in his coveralls and that silly baseball cap that doesn’t fool anyone into believing he’s got hair under there, and his mom as she is in that photo taken the day of Kurt’s baptism, frail but smiling in a flowered shirt and long black pants.

The tears start streaming down his face, but he’s not the only one. Even Puck, the former bane of his existence, is sobbing sympathetically in the back row.

Mercedes gives Kurt a hug when he’s done. He stands rigid and stiff, because if he lets himself relax for one second he’s going to ratchet up from his current silent crying to the loud, ugly bawling. “That was beautiful, Kurt. But your dad’s not dead yet. Don’t give up, okay?”

* * *

Mercedes church dedicates its Sunday service to Burt Hummel’s healing. Kurt goes, because he needs something to do other than cry, and his own sacrament meeting isn’t until the afternoon.

The church building is beautiful, with stained glass windows that shine colored light on the pews. Kurt is one of only three white people in the sea of brown faces, but his self-consciousness fades as Mercedes sings “Bridge Over Troubled Water” with the choir. For the first time since his mother died, Kurt feels the Holy Spirit vividly—not just as a vaguely comforting presence, but as real as the blood pulsing through his body. The feeling stays with him through the rest of the service, and lingers as he and Mercedes walk out of the church to drive to his meeting house.

He wonders if he should feel ashamed. The Holy Spirit is supposed to speak to people in quiet, reverent moments as a still, small voice—not through loud, boisterous song.

But Kurt is incapable of feeling ashamed for this. It’s the only real hope he’s felt in days. When they get in the car, he reaches across the console and squeezes Mercedes’ hand. “Thank you, Mercedes. For everything.”

She holds his hand through most of sacrament meeting, and Carole holds his other hand. Afterward, Mercedes says, “Your church is a lot quieter than my church. But it’s nice.”

“No too many white people?” he says, more aware than ever after this morning how strange his social circles must seem to her.

“Nah,” she says. “We’re all God’s children, when it comes down to it.”

* * *

It’s a quiet week in the hospital. He’s asked the kids in the glee club to give him some space, so they hold a prayer vigil in the park. Apparently Rachel’s planning to lead them in “Papa, Can You Hear Me?” from _Yentl_ , and Kurt’s too tired to judge her for picking a song about a guy who’s already dead. Maybe the lyrics apply just as well to someone in a coma.

 _It’s their intention that counts,_ he tells himself, and it almost sounds like his mother’s voice in his head.

He’s wearing his _Keep calm by focusing on the celestial kingdom_ t-shirt—not the one Puck ruined in ninth grade, but the one Kurt ordered to replace the original. It helps keep him from sobbing against his dad’s mattress and begging him to wake up. Kurt spends the first half hour on his knees, asking Heavenly Father to comfort his dad, and give Kurt the strength to endure whatever happens.

Carole knocks quietly on the door. “Hey, Kurt. The home teachers are here.”

Kurt mumbles “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen” and looks up. He’d forgotten they were coming, but he’s glad to see the men nonetheless. They’re Mormons, so unlike the glee club, they understand the value of being quiet. They won’t overwhelm him. Usually, the home teachers give their once-monthly gospel lessons in the Hummel living room, but there’s no point in that when half the family is in a coma.

They focus their lesson on John 8:12: “Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.’”

Kurt prays that his father’s coma is full of light.

“Kurt,” says one of the home teachers after their group prayer, “I feel a prompting from the Holy Spirit to administer an anointing for your father.”

Kurt’s mind flashes to all the times his father has given him an anointing: hot and feverish in bed, his father’s cool hands on his head, his comforting voice speaking quietly about God’s love. Tears start up for the millionth time this day. Kurt nods his assent. “Let’s get Carole. She should be here, too.”

One of the home teachers puts a dab of consecrated oil on Burt’s forehead, and then both bless him, their hands resting lightly on his scalp. They bless him with everything Kurt’s been afraid to ask for: that Burt Hummel will wake up from his coma and walk again, that his mind and heart will be restored, that he’ll return to his work and providing for Kurt, and that Heavenly Father has many great plans for him beyond even these.

They leave. Kurt cries. He sits with his dad through dinner, and afterward he pulls his chair up closer to the bedside and holds his hand. It’s warm with life despite its stillness. Kurt wishes his dad would squeeze back, but for now this is enough.

“Is is true, Dad? I want everything in your blessing tonight to be true. Please come back. Mom can wait some more. She’s probably busy right now giving the gospel lessons to Finn’s dad, anyway.” Kurt chuckles at his own attempt at lightness, since his dad can’t. He swallows his tears. “God feels so far away sometimes, but not you. Even now, sitting next to you, I feel safe. Thanks for standing up to the bishop for me, even if I couldn’t understand why. I’m beginning to get it, Dad, even if I don’t agree with you. I think it’s about the way we relate to God. You see God as your friend, and your relationship with him and yourself as so sacred that it’s wrong for other people to pry into it, even in the name of the church. I wish I saw God that way, Dad. I wish I felt like he was my friend and not like some distant relative way off on the planet Kolob. But how can I feel like he loves me when he’s letting me go through trials I’m not strong enough to bear? Why doesn’t he stand up for me the way you do?”

His dad doesn’t move or blink, but his chest keeps rising and falling with each breath. If Kurt curls his finger around his dad’s wrist, he can feel his pulse. Looking at their joined hands, it occurs to him what a strange, double-edged sword this kind of touch is. Holding his father’s hand is commendable in the church’s eyes. Holding any other man’s hand is a sin. He leans his head against the mattress.

“I’m so tired, Dad. Which I know sounds ridiculous since I’m awake and you’re in a coma but—I’m tired. If you die, I think it’s going to kill me. I’m broken, Dad.” He looks up at his father’s closed eyes. He wants to say more, to say _I don’t like girls the way I should_ and _I try to picture myself getting married to Mercedes because she’s the only girl whose hugs I actually enjoy and I just can’t see it_ and _I’m gay, please don’t stop loving me,_ but the words are too difficult to speak, even though his father won’t hear them. “I can’t endure to the end on my own. I know the church should be enough to carry me through this life, but it’s not. I don’t feel Heavenly Father’s love the way I want to. But I feel your love. That’s what sacred to me, and I’m so sorry I never got to tell you that.”

Burt’s finger twitches against Kurt’s skin.

“Dad, can you hear me?”

His finger twitches again.

* * *

By the next day, Burt Hummel is awake and talking. He asks Carole to marry him. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect time,” he says, pulling out the engagement ring he had Kurt bring from home, “which is stupid, because the perfect time is now.”

“Yes,” she says, and kisses him so long that when Kurt and Finn walk in five minutes later, they’re still going at it.

“Aw, gross!” shrieks Finn.

Kurt bumps his shoulder. “C’mon, Finn. It’s sweet. Everybody loves a little romance.”

“Not when it’s our parents, though. Next thing you know she’ll be in the hospital bed with him and—”

Kurt slaps his hand over Finn’s mouth.

Carole stands up straight and flashes the ring in their direction. “We have something to tell you.”

Kurt zips across the hospital room and flings his arms around Carole before leaning over the bed to hug his dad. His mouth goes a mile a minute, talking about how he wants to be in charge of the decorations and the clothes and “Don’t you think a russet and cognac theme would be perfect?” He looks over his shoulder at Finn, who’s still standing in the doorway, blinking like a plastic doll. “Those are fall wedding colors, Finn. Autumnal!”

Carole waves Finn over. “Finn, you haven’t said anything.”

“Uh, I’m—I guess I’m just kind of stunned.” Finn looks at the floor. “Does this mean we’ll have to go to church every week now?”

Carole smiles at him gently. “No. Only if you want to. But I have some other news I might as well share, since you’re all here.” She takes a deep breath and looks at Finn. “You know how I’ve been reading the Book of Mormon? And meeting with the sister missionaries?”

Finn nods. Burt blurts out, “Whoa. This is news to me.”

She gives an apologetic look to her fiance. “It was something I wanted to do on my own. Every since I went to church for the first time with you guys, I felt—I felt like I had finally had my home. But I needed to explore it on my own. I didn’t want you to think I was doing this for you.”

“Okay,” Burt says.

Kurt, meanwhile, bounces on his toes at a hundred beats per minute. His hands are clasped in front of his chest, his eyes wide and his smile so big it puts Julia Roberts’ to shame.

“Anyway,” Carole says, “everything I’ve learned has just confirmed that first feeling. I’ve finally found my spiritual home. I want to get baptized.”

Kurt flings himself at Carole, hugging her so hard he lifts her off the ground. “This is the best day ever! My dad’s alive, and now marriage and baptism! It doesn’t get better than this!”

She giggles and cries while Burt and Finn just stare at them both.

Kurt steps back and pats her on the arm. “And I’m going to sew you a baptismal robe, okay? Because the standard ones at the stake center make people look like the Pillsbury Doughboy. They’re totally not up to the solemnity of the occasion.”

“Actually,” Carole says, “I was hoping you’d baptize me.”

Kurt stammers. “Shouldn’t Dad? He’s going to be your husband.”

“Nah, kid.” Burt pats him on the arm. “You do it. We’re all family now. It can be your first official duty as Carole’s new step-son.”

* * *

The following Sunday, Kurt Hummel stands up in fast and testimony with a huge smile on his face. “I’ve been struggling with doubts,” he says, “but I’m here to tell you now that the this church is true. My dad was on his deathbed last month, but then Brothers Collins and Ho gave him an anointing given through the power of the restored priesthood. And now he’s here today at sacrament meeting with me, sitting in the fifth row. So I know without a doubt that Heavenly Father loves me, that he sent his only son Jesus Christ to redeem me from my sins, and that all things are possible through him. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”


	8. Liberty Jail (Fall/Winter 2010)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baptism, a wedding, and other monumental events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small section of this chapter were previously published on [tumblr.](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/92159298995/fic-snippet-liberty-jail-kurt-hummel-au) Warning for canon-typical violence.

The next month or so is a blur. First, there’s Carole’s baptism. The next Sunday is her confirmation. And a few weeks after that comes the wedding.

Kurt spends most of his free time sewing. Carole needs a baptismal robe and a wedding dress. Kurt’s never performed a baptism before, so he needs a white outfit, too. Then there’s the wedding decor. Carole can’t go to the temple until she’s been in the church for a year, so they’re getting married by Bishop Longquist on the lawn of the reception hall. Kurt goes around the neighborhood collecting fallen yellow maple leaves to use as decorations, along with large bows of flaming red sumac.

Kurt takes a single Saturday off from wedding preparations to drive down to Columbus with Mercedes, Santana, Brittany and Sam for a Gladys Knight worship concert at one of the LDS meetinghouses there. “Wait,” Santana said when he invited the glee club. “Gladys Knight, the empress of soul, is a freaking _Mormon?_ You’re shitting me.”

“God’s honest truth,” said Kurt.

“Holy fuck. This I gotta see.”

Santana manages not to swear through the entire thing, at least not that Kurt can hear. He feels a glow of achievement, as if her success at reining in her tongue is his own. But it’s nothing compared to what he feels when Sister Knight takes a break from the singing to share her testimony. “God is a master painter,” she says. “He’s got so many colors in his palette, and he’s painted you just the way he wants you. He needs you to be who you are, inside and outside.”

Kurt knows she’s talking about culture and skin color, but he can’t help feeling that maybe her words apply to the part of him that makes him feel different and ashamed. Maybe his feelings weren’t put there by the devil. Maybe they’re fundamental to who he is, of who his Heavenly Parents always intended him to be.

“My voice is my gift from God, and I have an obligation to use it. You have your own gifts that God wants you to use. You are a child of God.”

Kurt starts crying, and as the choir launches into “Come, Come Ye Saints,” it’s as if he’s hearing the words for the first time.

_Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;_  
_But with joy wend your way._  
_Though hard to you this journey may appear,_  
_Grace shall be as your day._  
_'Tis better far for us to strive_  
_Our useless cares from us to drive;_  
_Do this, and joy your hearts will swell—_  
_All is well! All is well!_

Maybe wishing that he could change is a useless care. Maybe God wants him to stop worrying about becoming straight and instead focus on the things that really matter—love, and kindness, and being open to the Holy Spirit.

It’s only when the song ends that Kurt realizes Mercedes is crying, too. She takes a Book of Mormon at the end of the service.

All is well.

* * *

Or, all _would_ be well if it weren’t for David Karofsky suddenly remembering Kurt exists. Apparently even bullies think it’s in bad taste to throw you against a locker when your dad’s in a coma, but once he’s out of the hospital everything’s fair game.

Kurt doesn’t have the protection of his father’s helplessness anymore.

The attacks are almost daily. A shove here, a tripping there, a murmured or shouted _fag_ or _queer._ Sometimes the insults are ironic—things that would otherwise be compliments if it wasn’t for the derision in Karofsky’s voice. “Hey, fancy,” he shouts across the hall one morning, and Kurt bolts into the nearest classroom before Karofsky can catch up with them. Or “You look good in those pants, cupcake,” followed by a derisive laugh and a hard thump against his ass that knocks him hip-first into the locker. Kurt’s left with a huge bruise over his hipbone that goes from deep purple to a festering yellow-brown that doesn’t fade until the wedding. _It’s russet, just like the wedding decorations,_ he thinks to himself, and laughs because that’s better than crying.

Kurt brings his wedding planning notebook to school every day so he can work on it in homeroom. Sometimes he brings in samples of fabrics and cake toppers to show his guidance counselor, Miss Pillsbury, who has excellent taste and is just as fastidious as Kurt about most things.

There’s a few days in a row where Karofsky does nothing, and Kurt gets careless. He puts the cake topper that he and Miss Pillsbury have agreed upon on the top shelf of his locker so he can see it between each class. It’s of a bride and groom, and it fills Kurt with happy thoughts of his new family. He uses it as inspiration, too, on days when he’s accidentally let his eyes wander in gym class. Even if God made him this way, that doesn’t mean he’s supposed to act on it. It’s his cross to bear, his trial to learn and grow from. Eventually, when Kurt has proven himself worthy, God will let him to fall in love with a woman. He looks at the cake topper and reminds him that with resolve and dedication, he can have his own beautiful wedding someday, too—if not on earth, then in heaven.

Kurt glances up at the cake topper as he grabs his algebra book from his locker. She smiles at the bride, thinking of Carole in her white baptismal dress.

 _Wham!_ Kurt goes face first into his open locker door. Fortunately, his forehead hits the metal before his nose does. The bruise will be invisible under his bangs.

“What do you have this faggy thing in your locker for?”

Kurt turns around. Karofsky is holding the cake topper in his hands.

“A heterosexual couple is, by definition, not faggy,” Kurt says with as calm a tone as he can muster.

Karofsky glares at him. “You calling me stupid?”

“With your level of smarts, you could easily become assistant manager at a rendering plant.”

“I don't know what that is, but if I find out it's bad, The Fury's gonna find you.” Karofsky squeezes his fist around the cake topper and thrusts it a half-inch from Kurt’s face.

[ _God hath not given us the spirit of fear._](https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/2-tim/1.6-7?lang=eng#5) Kurt remembers this, and pretends not to be afraid. “The Fury?”

 _“_ That's what I named my fist.”

“Wow. Don’t use up all the creativity God gave you in one place.”

Karofsky slaps his empty hand against the locker. “Shut up about God.”

“Why? Are you afraid he’s going to hold you accountable for how awful you are?”

That turns out not to be the wisest thing to say, because Karofsky rams his elbow into Kurt’s solar plexus. Kurt sees black and collapses to the ground. When he opens his eyes, Karofsky is standing over him, waving the cake topper in his face. “Thanks for the statue, Mormon boy. It’ll look nice with my trophies.” Kurt should reach out and grab it, but his lungs feel on the verge of collapse. He doesn’t have the strength.

* * *

Kurt doesn’t tell his dad about Karofsky, just like he never told him about Puck. Why would he? His dad’s not with him in school every day. There’s nothing he can do about it. And the teachers—they _should_ be able to do something about it, but they can’t see what’s in front of them. Kurt can’t count the number of times a teacher has passed by while Karofsky’s had him cornered against the lockers, but their eyes are always somewhere else.

Besides, Kurt thinks Karofsky might be an unwitting tool of God, working on behalf of Heavenly Father to chasten him for his doubts. He’ll stop his bullying when Kurt’s proven himself, just like it says in the Doctrine & Covenants: [_And my people must needs be chastened until they learn obedience, if it must needs be, by the things which they suffer_](https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/105.6?lang=eng) _._

Fine. Kurt will endure. He’ll put his faith in God to carry him through.

[ _My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes._ ](https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/121.7-8?lang=eng)

Kurt decides his only regret is that there is no hell, because he doesn’t have the luxury of fantasizing about Karofsky burning in it.

* * *

The wedding day is a respite. Kurt spends the morning scattering the prettiest leaves from his collection on the lawn as decorations. The ceremony itself is plain and simple, 20 feet from the base of a locust tree with golden leaves as bright as sunshine. Even if it’s not a sealing for eternity, the bishop treats it with care and respect, saying lovely things about family and devotion. And since it’s not in the meetinghouse he lets the couple do a procession and exchange rings. Kurt gets all choked up from the scripture reading from Ruth, which sounds like it’s being spoken from one spouse to another but is in fact a pledge between in-laws, like he and Finn are now: [_Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God_](https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/ruth/1.16?lang=eng) _._

The whole glee club is at the reception to provide music, and for the first time he starts to feel like they’re his family, too. He dances with each of the glee girls and with Carole, and when his feet wear out he sits down next to his dad and at the banquet table and rests his head on his shoulder. “Happy wedding day, Dad.”

His dad wraps an arm around him. “Thanks for making it great, kiddo. You really outdid yourself with all the planning.”

Kurt sighs contentedly and watches Finn slow-dancing with Rachel. Kurt feels wistful, wondering what it would be like to be the one in Finn’s arms, or in the arms of another boy just as handsome. For once, he doesn’t fight the longing. He lets it settle into his heart and add to the day’s happiness.

* * *

The long-term plan is to move into a bigger house, but in the meantime Carole and Finn move into the Hummel home, with Finn in Kurt’s room. Kurt figures it’s good practice for when he goes on his mission. He’s going to be around other boys 24 hours a day then, and he might as well get used to it now.

He quickly realizes isn’t even attracted to Finn half the time anymore. Stinky socks, loud snoring, terrible musical taste, and playing drums when Kurt is doing his scripture study all help on that front.

But then there are the other times, when Finn smiles at him softly and says, “Hey, it’s kind of cool having you as a brother,” or when he falls asleep five minutes into studying and looks as innocent and pure as an angel. The worst is when he walks into the room and starts peeling off his clothes like he’s in a locker room.

Kurt’s response to such moments becomes automatic: He goes over his scripture mastery verses in his head until the warm feeling in his heart (or other places) goes away. He thanks Heavenly Father for these trials, because they teach him how to refocus his thoughts.

Within weeks, he’s at the top of his seminary class for scripture mastery.

Kurt never undresses in front of Finn. His chest is covered with bruises, and he doesn’t want Finn to ask where they came from.

Though sometimes, when he’s drifting off to sleep and can’t really control his thoughts anymore, he imagines showing them to Finn. He imagines Finn crying and kissing each one of them, turning pain into something that feels like healing. _I’m so sorry I let him do this to you,_ Finn whispers against his skin. _I let my own fear get in the way._

* * *

Finn’s not exactly pissed that his mom got baptized, but he’s not exactly happy about it, either. He liked things the way there were, with Kurt and Burt all in charge of being holy, and him and his mom just getting the holiness by association. Finn knows for sure he doesn’t belong in the Mormon church, because Mormons have to pray every day, and Finn’s not planning to pray ever again. It’s too much like playing Russian roulette.

So the whole religion thing is kind of awkward. Finn goes to family home evening every Monday because for the most part, it’s nice. He’s never had a family with a mom and a dad and a sibling before, and playing board games is pretty fun. He just wishes he didn’t have to sit through the scripture and praying part. It’s not too bad when Burt is in charge of picking out the scripture, because he usually chooses something short and sweet and easy to understand, and half the time it doesn’t even include anything about God. But Kurt is almost a Bible thumper. He likes the scriptures about wars and violence, stuff where God kills the people who aren’t good enough or don’t follow every single rule. Finn ends up feeling bad.

At those times, Finn is more sure than ever that he doesn’t want to follow God. Someone who goes around massacring people, dislocating your friend’s shoulder, and making you feel like shit just isn’t worth hanging around.

* * *

Karofsky makes a tactical error. He shoves Kurt into the lockers on a day when he’s wearing his mother’s cashmere cardigan. It snags on the metal latch. By the time Kurt pulls himself loose, the hole is the size of a nickel.

Karofsky is already halfway down the hall. He makes a sharp right into the boy’s locker room and disappears.

Kurt sees red. He runs after Karofsky as if his life depends on it.

It’s just him and Karofsky in the locker room, but Kurt isn’t afraid. He’s got the Holy Ghost on his side, and that’s as powerful as twelve armies. This is David against Goliath, Nephi against Laban, Abinadi against the thieves. Kurt is going to win. “Hey! Karofsky!”

Karofsky’s got his back to Kurt. He’s putting something in his locker. He doesn’t turn around. “Girls' locker room is next door.”

Kurt steps toward him. His body is vibrating with anger. “What is your problem?”

Karofsky spins around now. “Excuse me?”

 _“_ What are you so scared of?”

 _“_ Besides you sneaking in here to peek at my junk?”

Kurt takes a deep breath. If Karofsky can hit a low blow, Kurt can go even lower. It doesn’t matter if it’s true, just as long as it hurts. “Point one finger at me and three point right back at you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I see through you. I know why you’re on the football team. I know that you love all that ass-slapping and hugging and standing around half-naked in a locker-room that smells like guys’ armpits. That’s what you’re into, isn’t it, Karofsky?”

“Do not push me, Hummel.”

Good. He’s found Goliath’s week spot. Not that it took much talent. It's every straight guys' biggest nightmare to be accused of being a queer, from star quarterback to Priesthood Quorum president. Kurt goes in for the kill. “Is that why you throw guys around, because it gives you an excuse to touch them? Are you so depraved that you’d settle for that instead of holding hands with a girl? Oh yeah, come to think of it, when is the last time you’ve dated a girl? Because I listen to every bit of gossip that goes through the school grapevine, and I’m pretty sure the answer is _never_.” As the words' rush out of Kurt’s mouth, he suddenly occurs to him they might be true. The weird comments about Kurt’s looks, —

“Don't push me!” Karofsky slams his locker door shut.

Kurt grabs Karofsky's arm. Kurt's fingers are the jaws of a German shepherd trained to kill. “What are you going to do? Punch me? That will only prove my point. You’re a sick, depraved monster, Karofsky. That’s what you are.”

“I said get out of my face!”

A little voice inside Kurt’s head tells him to back off. Later, he’ll recognize the voice as the Holy Spirit, but right now it’s just an annoying distraction. He wants to see Karofsky’s humiliation through to the very end. He wants Karofsky to feel as unfit and unworthy as he does every time he looks in the mirror. “Why? What are you scared of?”

Karofsky's lower lip trembles. His eyes are so close to Kurt's that Kurt almost forgets to breathe. He's never stood this close to another guy before. Kurt sees the flecks that make up Dave's irises—shards of brown and amber that scatter out from his pupils like broken glass. In the black center, Kurt sees his own reflection.

And he sees what Karofsky's been hiding. _Cupcake_ and  _fancy_ and  _pretty boy._ They're not the insults Kurt thought they were. They're endearments. 

Karofsky steps even closer. He's right in Kurt’s face, his nose a hairbreadth from Kurt’s own—and it’s like everything is moving in slow-motion, but also way too fast for Kurt to do anything about it. Nausea creeps up Kurt's spine, the same as it always does when Karofsky looks at him this way. But it's worse now, because Kurt understands what it means.

He kisses Kurt—an angry, weltering kiss, all smashed lips and noses. He wraps his hands around the back of Kurt’s skull and pulls him closer until their teeth bump together.  _Click. Click click._ It's like nails against a chalkboard, the pain like an icepick in his ears.

Karofsky tastes like cinnamon rolls. (It will be months before Kurt can bring himself to eat another cinnamon roll.)

Kurt tries to bite Karofsky's lip, but he's locked between Karofsky's hands and his teeth. There's no room to move.

Until there is.Karofsky pulls back. He stares at Kurt. He looks like he’s about to cry. He looks like he wants more. And Kurt should say something,

Karofsky pulls back. He stares at Kurt. He looks like he’s about to cry. He looks like he wants more. And Kurt should say something, _do_ something—hit Karofsky, or shove him, or just run away—but he's so stunned at the sudden freedom that he doesn't remember how to move. He can barely even feel his own body. He wonders if it's disappeared, and he's just a pair of eyes floating in the middle of the boys’ locker room.

Karofsky kisses him a second time, and then a third. And still Kurt feels like he’s not quite there. He feels things—the force of Karofsky’s mouth, the heat of his breath, his fingers curling into Kurt’s neck. But it’s like they’re happening to someone else’s body, not his own.

Kurt suddenly remembers he promised to pick up milk on the way home.

It’s only on the fourth kiss, when Karofsky has him backed against the lockers and presses his tongue into his mouth, that Kurt’s body comes back to him. So do his senses, and the advice of Elder Packer for situations such as these: _Hit him. Floor him._

Kurt knees Karofsky in the balls and runs.

* * *

 _Tell someone,_ urges the still small voice inside Kurt’s heart.

But he can’t.

Because every time he replays the scene in his head, he gets caught on how it was that he let Karofsky kiss him a second time. The first—that’s explainable. Kurt didn’t know it was coming. Not really.

But the second—he saw Karofsky moving toward him again. He knew what that motion meant. But he let Karofsky kiss him again, and again, and again.

The only possible explanation is that, somewhere deep inside, Kurt wanted it. He wanted to kiss a boy at any cost. That was how depraved he was. He was rotten to his core.

So of course he can’t tell anyone. They’ll ask him why it took him so long to fight back.

And Kurt would have to admit what an abomination he was.

* * *

Kurt often thinks about Joseph Smith in Liberty jail, locked away for five months in a room with a ceiling so low that he couldn’t even stand up straight. How long was it after the Prophet left the jail that he was able to no longer walk without a stoop?

When his wife Emma came to visit him, she spoke to him through a trap door in the cell’s ceiling. Was it relief or anxiety he felt during those visits? Was he happy to look up at his wife, a square of sunlight surrounding her like a halo? Or did he dread the moment that the trapdoor would close?

Kurt imagines living in a small, dank room with no doors, lit only by two narrow windows by the ceiling and the occasional candle, surrounded by the stench of your own body and waste and the spoiled food served by your jailers.

The Prophet said that Liberty Jail was a special kind of emotional hell, “a testing of our faith equal to the prophet Abraham’s” when Heavenly Father asked Abraham to sacrifice his own son on a fiery altar.

Kurt, on the other hand, would give anything to spend five months in Liberty Jail, if only it would free him from his lifetime sentence of being trapped in a body that refuses to cooperate with Heavenly Father’s plans.

* * *

Karofsky suddenly disappears from school. There are rumors he’s in the hospital. “He OD’d on cough syrup,” says Tina.

“I heard it was a nervous breakdown,” says Mercedes.

“Nah, man, it was meningitis,” says Sam.

Kurt feels inexplicably devastated, but he hides it well. “Sam, it can’t be meningitis,” he says with a smile. “The whole football team would be quarantined.”

A few weeks later, when Karofsky still hasn’t returned, the rumor is that he’s been sent to a military academy. But Santana insists he’s at some weird hippie love-everybody Quaker boarding school where kids start each morning milking goats and making omelettes from eggs laid in their backyard, and then spend the day studying whatever they want, and somehow magically at the end of it still qualify to get into Harvard and MIT.

Half of Kurt hopes it’s the former, and that all the stories he’s heard of violent hazing at military academies are true.

The other half hopes it’s the latter. If he was in Karofsky’s position, that’s where he would want to be.

* * *

Kurt’s not in love with Finn anymore. He doesn’t know why. He just isn’t.

And Kurt should be happy about that, but he’s not. Because in that place where he used to hide all his feelings for Finn, there’s nothing. And that nothingness has spread out to the rest of his body and soul.

Kurt goes through the motions. He attends school and church and seminary. He does his homework. He goes on a couple dates with Mercedes, and sometimes she makes a funny joke and he laughs, and for about five seconds he forgets how empty he is. But then he remembers, and it takes all his concentration to keep the smile plastered on his face.

She asks him where she should start in reading the Book of Mormon. Maybe he can share some of his favorite passages with her?

He can’t think of any, so he tells her to start at the beginning, with “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in all the learning of my father.” For the first time, he realizes that the opening sentence of The Book of Mormon has really awful grammar.

He repeats the same outfit twice in a week.

He can’t sleep—not through the night, anyway. He wakes up around two or three o’clock each morning and lies there, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. He has this sense that the room around him isn’t real. Neither is the moonlight coming through the window, or the sound of his blood pulsing through his own ears. He’s only a brain floating in a jar somewhere, dreaming a life that doesn’t exist.

He takes out his earplugs and hears Finn’s snoring. This helps shake the disembodied feeling away, but he still feels off. Maybe someone replaced his brain with cotton while he was asleep. Maybe he has a tumor. Maybe he’s died and he’s in spirit prison.

“Mom?” he whispers, just in case he really is dead. She wouldn’t live in spirit prison, of course. Her home is in the paradise half of the spirit world. But she might be able to hear him and come visit, just like he imagines she visits Finn’s dad.

She doesn’t answer.

Finn and Kurt’s dad could sleep through anything, but Carole is a light sleeper. So Kurt only goes upstairs for warm milk if she’s working the night shift. He doesn’t want to draw attention.

He heats the milk on the stove with a little cinnamon and pours it in a mug. With each sip, he reminds himself, “I am here, now, drinking warm milk. This is real.” It doesn’t always make him feel better, but it distracts him. And that’s good.

When he’s done, he washes the mug and pot before toweling them off and putting them away. It’s best not to leave behind evidence of his insomnia. His father has his own health to worry about. There’s no point in him worrying about Kurt’s, too.

* * *

He lies in bed with the lights off until Finn begins snoring, and his father and Carole fall silent upstairs. Then he turns on his flashlight and does a trick his Boy Scout leader taught him a long time ago: open your scriptures with eyes closed, then let your finger fall somewhere on the page. Open your eyes and read the passage you’re pointing to, and listen for the Holy Spirit’s guidance to apply it to your life.

Kurt opens his eyes. His finger is pointing to _men are, that they might have joy_.

Tears stream down Kurt’s face, unbidden.

He slides off his bed and onto his knees. Finn snores softly, the sounds almost drowned out by the struggling, apneic snores of Carole upstairs—but not quite. Their breathing merges together, like wave and undertow. Kurt is lost at sea. He wonders if he would float or be pulled under.

"Heavenly Father," Kurt mouths, no sound passing from his lips—he can’t bear the thought of another human hearing his words, and even less the thought of burdening the sleeping sounds of the house with his suffering, "Thou hast created me to have joy. Why can't I feel it?" He opens his mouth to continue, but no words came out—just a wracking sob that twists his ribs and shut his eyes like the doors of a tomb.

It’s the strongest emotion he’s felt in weeks, and he hates it. He buries his face in his pillow and sobs silently. The darkness envelops him. He falls asleep.

* * *

“Kurt, you look awful,” Burt says when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. Finn’s already left for pre-school football practice; Carole’s at work.

If Kurt were himself, he’d answer with a sarcastic, “Thanks a lot.” But he’s not himself. So instead he says, “I am.” Kurt crumples down in the chair across from him and starts crying as hard as he did the night before.

“Whoa, kid. What’s wrong?” Burt swoops over and wraps Kurt in his arms. In seconds, the shoulder of his coveralls is soaked through.

“Everything,” is all Kurt can manage.

“Did some girl break your heart?”

Kurt's grief turns into a gale; his breathing becomes erratic.

“Hold on, kid. I’m gonna get you some water.”

The water is enough to get Kurt’s breath more even. Burt crouches on the floor next to him, one hand on each of his shoulders, propping him up so he doesn’t collapse on himself. But Kurt still can’t look at his dad. He’s fallen so far. He’s intractably queer and intractably unhappy, two things that Mormons are never supposed to be.

“Talk to me, kiddo. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t, Dad.”

“Yes, you can. And you’re gonna. We’re both staying right here until you say whatever’s hurting you.”

“But you need to get to the garage.”

“Forget the garage. Those cars’ll wait for me until I’m ready to fix them. You’re my son, and you come before work or Carole or Jesus Christ himself, you got that?”

“Dad, that’s blasphemy!” Kurt jolts upright in his chair like he’s just been electrocuted.

“Look, I love Jesus as much as the next guy, but if he played that trick on me like he did to Abraham, telling me to go kill my own son? I’d tell him to go find another prophet.”

“But Abraham didn’t kill Isaac. That’s the whole point of the story. God is merciful.”

“That may be, but Abraham was still an idiot for not standing up for his own kid, even if God wasn’t really serious about the whole human sacrifice thing, okay? All I’m saying is, if Jesus or Heavenly Father or any of them made a loopy request like that to me, I wouldn’t do it. And if they were serious? Well. I’d find another god to follow. Because I love you more than anything in the world, and that’s as sacred as it gets, kid.”

Those words give Kurt the courage to finally let go of his burden. “I’m gay, Dad.”

Burt stares. Kurt doesn’t blame him. He barely knows what to say, either. But one second passes and another, and then another, and Kurt suddenly wonders if his dad wants to take back all that stuff he said about standing up to Jesus for him. He gets that weird feeling again like he gets in the middle of the night, like the world is disappearing from out under him.

“Dad?”

His dad does that little throat-clearing sound he does when he’s trying not to cry. “I’ve failed you as a father, haven’t I?”

Kurt’s tears start up again in earnest. “No, Dad. You didn’t make me this way. Please don’t blame yourself. There’s just … something _wrong_ with me.”

Burt puts a firm hand on Kurt’s shoulder and looks right into Kurt’s eyes. “That’s not what I meant at all. And for the record, there’s nothing wrong with you, okay? Even if I have no idea what I’m doing here, you are exactly who your Heavenly Parents made you to be. And I know your mother would tell you exactly the same thing if she was here. Got it?”

“But the church says—”

“Yeah. I know what the church says. Which is why I’m wondering if I’ve done you wrong your whole life by raising you in it. Because I’ve known forever you were different—”

“Really?”

“Ever since you were five, and all you wanted for Christmas was a Barbie doll. Your mom told me then to be prepared.”

“A boy can be into fashion and not be—” Kurt looks down at his hands. He can’t say the word again. Besides, Kurt’s not sure it’s the best way to describe him. Not if gay means what he’s always thought it meant—that you care more about your own happiness than you do about God or your family.

“Fine, then. I suspected. But then in high school you started dating girls and I caught you making out with Brittany and—I thought maybe you weren’t. And I let myself think that. Because thinking that made things easier for me. It hasn’t for you, though. Has it?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t know how life could be easy for me. Not with this trial Heavenly Father wants to put me through.”

“Kurt, I don’t think Heavenly Father is trying to put you through any trials. And if that’s what going to church and reading your scriptures every day has taught you, maybe—maybe we should let up a little on that stuff. Because the God I know wants people to be happy.”

Kurt sniffles. “You mean, ‘Men are, that they might have joy’?”

“Exactly, kiddo.” Burt pulls Kurt up from his chair and holds him tight. It’s a gargantuan hug that squeezes the air out of Kurt’s lungs. It’s just what Kurt needs. “Thanks for telling me, Kurt. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It hasn’t been,” Kurt says. The hug gets impossibly tighter. “I love you, Dad.”

* * *

Burt doesn’t think it’s a good idea to go to the new bishop with this, but Kurt is nothing if not persistent. The church is a bigger part of his identity than this other thing is. So they both go to talk to him.

Bishop Longquist is cooler about it than Burt expects. He tells Kurt that his feelings aren’t a sin, and that if he decides he’s gay, that’s not a sin, either. He can still go on a mission if he holds himself to the standards that all Mormon teens are expected to follow.

“What if—hypothetically—a boy kissed me and I wasn’t expecting him to? Is that breaking the law of chastity? Would that mean I couldn’t go on a mission?” Kurt says.

The look on Kurt's face tells Burt the question is anything but hypothetical. He adds this to the list of things to ask his son about later.

“First off,” Bishop Longquist says, “kissing on its own isn’t necessarily a violation of the law of chastity. It all depends on the kind of kiss. But in any case, if someone forces himself on you, you’re not responsible for that. Why, Kurt? Did someone force himself on you? Is that why you’re wondering about these issues?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Like Dad says, I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. No one else made me this way. Except maybe … Do you think God made me this way?”

“I don’t know. Not even the prophet knows. Do you remember 1 Nephi 11:17?” The bishop looks back and forth between Burt and Kurt. Of course Burt doesn’t know it. Most Mormons do their scripture memorization when they’re kids, and Burt wasn’t a Mormon growing up. But he’d bet a hundred dollars that Kurt knows it. That kid’s like a walking dictionary of scripture verses.

“ _And I said unto him: I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things,”_ Kurt says.

Bishop Lonquist smiles. “That’s right. We don’t know why some people feel this way. We don’t know why _you_ feel this way. But I do know that Heavenly Father loves you, and will always love you, no matter how you choose to meet this challenge. I promise, Kurt, I’ll pray for you every day.”

“Thank you.” Kurt smiles, and Burt realizes it’s the first genuine smile he seen on his son’s face since the wedding.

* * *

Kurt prays for a long time that night. It’s more like a conversation than his usual prayers, his speech interspersed with periods of silence in which he waits for the Holy Ghost to answer.

A passage of scripture comes to him unbidden:[ _I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well._](https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/ps/139.13-16?lang=eng#12)

The words startle Kurt with their clarity. _I am fearfully and wonderfully made._

Kurt isn’t inclined to accept this thought on face value. But the scriptures explain that the way to know the truth is to pray about it. The Lord said,[ _you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right._](https://www.lds.org/scriptures/dc-testament/dc/9.8?lang=eng)

Kurt sits with it, mulls it over. He asks Heavenly Father if it’s true.

The answer comes to him: _I am fearfully and wonderfully made._

Kurt asks again, and again. Each time, it’s the same answer, stoking the warmth in his chest into a glowing fire.

A feeling of relief washes over Kurt. The things he loves about himself and the things he fears are all gifts from his Heavenly Parents. They made him in all his complexity. They gave him a heart that loves the church and falls in love with boys. It seems strange and impossible, but all things are possible in God.

Kurt goes to bed with a smile on his face, even though the evening’s prayers leave Kurt with no clear path ahead of him. He still wants to go on a mission—maybe now more than ever. God’s love feels tangible at this moment, and he wants to lead other people to that feeling. But he also needs to stop fighting who he is. He needs to accept that maybe he’ll never get married in the temple, that he’ll have to wait until heaven for the kind of love other people find on earth.

That fate doesn’t seem so bleak right now, not with God’s love burning in him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the rest of the story, the section about Gladys Knight and [Saints Unified Voices](http://www.suvchoir.org/) is fictional. Her dialogue is based on quotes in [LDS Living](http://www.ldsliving.com/How-Gladys-Knight-Became-a-Mormon/s/76709) and [Linescratchers](http://www.linescratchers.com/?p=678), a blog focusing on LDS musicians. You can hear Saints Unified Voices singing the classic LDS hymn [“Come, Come Ye Saints” on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g68myEpoquQ). Here’s a version by the [Saber Rattlers](https://sabre-rattlers.bandcamp.com/track/all-is-well-come-come-ye-saints-small-ensemble-version) that’s become fairly popular thanks to being featured as a theme song on the [Mormon Stories](http://mormonstories.org/) podcast.
> 
> The Elder Packer advice that Kurt remembers is paraphrased from [To Young Men Only](https://www.lds.org/manual/to-young-men-only/to-young-men-only?lang=eng), a sermon given by Apostle Boyd K. Packer at the October 1976 LDS general conference and distributed for more than two decades as a pamphlet to young Mormon men. It’s now distributed through the church’s website, LDS.org.
> 
> The scripture passages in this chapter are 2 Timothy 1:7 (New Testament), Doctrine and Covenants 105:6, Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8, Ruth 1:16 (Hebrew Bible), Psalm 138:14 (Hebrew Bible), and Doctrine and Covenants 9:8. All are quoted from scripture editions published by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.


	9. Lilies of the Field (Summer 2012)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a good, mostly closeted Mormon kid doesn’t keep Kurt Hummel from loving fashion, or from bristling when he finds out that the missionary dress code is stricter than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A previous version of this chapter was published on [tumblr.](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/94958918075/ficlet-lilies-of-the-field-mormon-kurt-au-pg-13) The characterization is different here.
> 
> Quotations are from “Dress and Grooming Guidelines for Elders" on LDS.org. “Lilies of the field” is a reference to Matthew 6:8, Luke 12:27, 3 Nephi 13, and Doctrine and Covenants 84:82, the last one being the most relevant because the passage it’s a part of is all about being an obedient missionary.

Kurt sighs and looks away from his laptop. Reading through the missionary clothing guidelines is proving to be an exercise in frustration. Despite already owning 18 suit jackets, five vintage suits, and more button-down shirts and neckties than he can count, he’ll have to go shopping. Few of his clothes match the dull-as-dishwater image that missionaries are supposed to project.

> _Wear business-style suits in conservative colors. If you wear lighter-colored suits, choose shades of grey or brown. Choose suits made of wool or a polyester-wool blend for durability, comfort, and wrinkle resistance. Suits with pinstripes or patterns should be simple and subtle in design. Do not wear sports coats or slim-style suits. …_
> 
> _Choose socks that match the color of your slacks or shoes._

Kurt has known missionaries all his life, watching them in the pews as they sat with visitors to explain the nuances of sacrament meeting. He’s wanted to be like them for as long as he could remember—well, not _exactly_ like them, since few of them knew how to carry themselves in a three-piece suit. But the chance to live somewhere other than Lima, maybe learn a new language and culture, and to give hope to people who were hurt and suffering—he wanted to do those things.

Somehow, Kurt has gone almost 19 years thinking that elder missionaries’ dull suit colors and uninspired socks were due to their own lack of imagination. And how should he have known any different? His father had never gone on a mission; he already had a 50 percent share in the tire shop by the time he converted, and leaving for two years would have run the business into the ground.

Sister missionaries dress like Amway salesmen. They wear brightly colored suit jackets in shades of cerise, buttercup, emerald and aquamarine. Their skirts and dresses feature a dizzying array of geometric and floral patterns, and they don plenty of flattering accessories: beaded necklaces and pearl earrings, flowing silk scarves, colorful purses or knee-high boots that laced up the sides.

Kurt always assumed that the sisters had good fashion sense, and the elders had never bothered to learn. (Though there had been some exceptions, some young men who managed to look more sophisticated, who moved in their suits like they were a second skin, and when they lifted an arm or bent to pick up something that a child or sister had dropped, Kurt could almost see their muscles ripple under the layers of fabric, could almost feel the warmth of their bodies—)

Kurt shuts his laptop and set it on his nightstand. “If you ever find yourself thinking about a girl’s body while you’re in bed, get out of bed and find something wholesome to busy yourself,” his bishop advised the Priests Quorum a few weeks ago in a discussion on sexual purity. Kurt wasn’t thinking about girls’ bodies—but that means the advice applied all the more in his case, didn’t it?

Kurt sings the most rousing hymn he can think of as he steps over to his closet and opens the door:

[ _We thank thee, O God, for a prophet_](https://www.lds.org/music/library/hymns/we-thank-thee-o-god-for-a-prophet?lang=eng)  
_To guide us in these latter days._  
We thank thee for sending the gospel  
To lighten our minds with its rays.

Maybe he’s looking at the dress guidelines the wrong way. Yes, they’re restrictive—but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Young men in beautiful clothes can be distractions and temptations. And maybe _he_ was a distraction to others at times. It was hard to imagine—Kurt doesn’t think of himself as physically attractive, and he doesn’t dress in beautiful clothes to make himself so. For him, assembling an outfit is more about art than about vanity. Kurt was made in God’s image, and God is a creator—so of course Kurt would want to create things, too. He might never be able to create in the most important way there is, by marrying a woman in the temple and having children with her. But he can still create beauty, transforming the building blocks of fabric and thread into something greater than its parts.

And he can certainly do that while staying within the missionary guidelines. It would be easy compared to some of the other things the church has asked of him. And maybe by learning to do the easy things, he’ll eventually be able to do the one that seems impossible. After all, the scriptures promised that the Holy Ghost will always be with faithful missionaries, and take their burdens from them. They become be like wild lilies, free of worry and sin.

Since coming out to Bishop Longquist, Kurt’s joined Northstar and other online communities for Latter-day Saints with same-sex attractions. A lot of the men in them have married in the temple. If Ty Mansfield, the poster boy for celibate gay Mormons, can fall in love with a woman, Kurt might, too.

Then again, maybe he won’t. It’s in God’s hands, not Kurt’s.

_Wear only business- or professional-style ties. Ties and tiepins should not contain pictures or caricatures. String, bow, skinny, or wide ties are not acceptable._

Kurt begins flipping through his necktie rack. Of course he doesn’t have any ties with caricatures or team logos—how tacky—but he has very few ordinary neckties. He’s always been attracted to the unusual and unique: ascots, bowties and, on the rare occasions when he’s feeling conservative, narrow neckties that the church would certainly classify as “skinny.”

Ah, well. He’ll have to sew some new neckties that match both the church’s standards and his own. He pulls his fabric chest out from under the sewing table and rifles through it, eyes lingering on his mother’s old prom dress and the plaid skirt she used to wear to sacrament meeting every fall. Inspiration strikes. These will provide the fabric for his first two missionary neckties.

A warm breeze blows in through the open window, caressing his cheek and reminding Kurt of the goodnight kisses his mother used to give him at bedtime.

Perhaps it’s more than a reminder. It could actually be her, greeting him from the other side of the veil.

Kurt smiles. There’s a good reason behind each of the church’s rules even when he can’t see it at first: _by small and simple things are great things brought to pass._

Sewing clothes that meet the missionary dress code will bring him closer to the mother who taught him the faith, who gave him a Barbie for Christmas, and who loved him for who he was.

Who still loves him.


	10. Epilogue: When the Holy Ghost Speaks (Winter 2013-2014)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Kurt's future, from the perspective of his mission president.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A previous version of this chapter was published on [tumblr.](http://wowbright.tumblr.com/post/94071590150/ficlet-when-the-holy-ghost-speaks-mormonklaine) This one has a different ending.

Mission presidents Geoffrey R. Steele keeps a bulletin board with a photo of each elder in his mission pinned to it in alphabetical order. He prays in front of it for hours each month before shuffling companionships and location assignments.

He feels the Holy Ghost’s presence with him during these times—usually as a quiet assurance, so subdued it’s hardly noticeable, like one’s own breath during sleep.

But sometimes it comes upon him like fire—deep and overwhelming, a sensation in his chest like embers glowing back into flame.

This is one of those evenings. As he ponders the photo of Elder Hummel, who has three months left before returning home, the image comes to him as clearly as if it were happening before his eyes: Hummel, dressed in white and standing waist deep in the local river, his left arm around the back of a faceless young girl, his right arm squared to the sky as he speaks the baptismal prayer.

The rest of the girl’s person’s family stands nearby in the water. Her parents’ hair is already wet from their own baptisms, and her younger siblings eagerly await their turns. Elder Hummel lowers the child into the water; when she arises, her smile is as bright as the summer skies above them.

It is then that President Steele notices one of his newer missionaries, Elder Anderson, in the water, too. Anderson puts his arm around the next child and begins the sacred ordinance.

Despite the clarity of the vision (President Steele can smell the water’s slight bouquet of algae and iron), he understands it’s probably not what the future will literally look like. There are stake centers all over the region now; converts get baptized indoors, not in muddy waters.

The images are simply the Holy Spirit’s way of speaking to him in a way he can understand.

And these images are saying, “Pair Elders Hummel and Anderson and they will do great works together; Heavenly Father will be pleased.”

It’s as clear as any prompting of the Holy Spirit can be.

So he assigns Elder Anderson as Kurt Hummel’s new junior companion.

President Steels gains an even greater testimony of the Holy Spirit’s nearness as the two missionaries bring the blessing of the gospel into so many lives over the next few months. But later, when they’ve both completed their missions and he’s back serving as second counselor to the bishop in his home ward, he receives a shock.

He’s scrolling through his Facebook feed when he sees a notification that Kurt Hummel has changed his relationship status to “married.” Geoffrey Steels clicks through to send a congratulatory note. Kurt was among his favorite missionaries, with an incredible work ethic and a deep dedication to the gospel. He expects to find a wall filled with pictures of Kurt and his bride posing in suit and modest wedding gown on the grounds of their local temple.

Instead, he sees a photo of Kurt standing under a canopy with Blaine Anderson: their hands clasped, their eyes fixed on each other, and their faces filled with a joy Geoffrey Steele hasn’t felt since his youngest child was born.

Geoffrey Steele wonders if he’s ever known God’s will at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Here is some thank you art:
> 
> Comments welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome throughout!


End file.
